Laws of Relativity
by candymax
Summary: After stealing a journal from a shady psychic business, Stanley and Stanford unearth the secrets of Gravity Falls. Based on the Relativity Falls AU, in which the ages and roles of the two sets of twins are swapped along with the rest of the town.
1. Tent of Terror, Part 1

No matter which direction he looked, all Ford saw were trees and the decaying bus stop. Fresh out of New Jersey, he possessed duffel bags that were slung over his shoulder and a look of bewilderment. He was the perfect image of a clueless tourist. The bus had sped off into a cloud of dirt, leaving them by themselves.

There was no use denying it; he was stranded in the woods. How he had gotten into that situation was a long story. It had all started back home when the old air conditioner in their cramped apartment had spluttered out and died on the first day of a sweltering summer. The money wasn't there to fix it-it wasn't there for a lot of things lately. When his parents announced that they'd be sending him and his twin brother Stan off to Oregon to stay with their great-aunt, their fates were sealed. He almost didn't mind it; getting away from their apartment brought more relief than it should have.

The summer might actually be fun, unless nobody showed up to get them, of course. "Wasn't our great-aunt supposed to meet us here? What if we're in the wrong place? It could be dangerous out here alone. Western rattlesnakes, cougars, and black bears are native to Oregon, you know."

"Whatever. If a bear was givin' me trouble, I'd just punch it. Right in its stupid face."

"Sure," Ford said, rolling his eyes. "That'll work."

Just beyond the bus stop, a rustling was heard in a nearby bush. "Watch out," Stan said jokingly. "It might be a bear."

They went over to investigate anyway, leaving their duffel bags behind in a pile. When they ran to it, they received the last thing they expected to see. They barely had time to shield their eyes before an explosion of multicolored glitter and party streamers shot from out of nowhere in their general direction. An older woman jumped out of the bush with a wide smile and branches sticking out of her hair. She held a tube-shaped machine decorated with bright patches of color in one hand.

"What the heck?!" Stan screamed. Ford, meanwhile, practically jumped a mile into the air.

"You like my glitter cannon? It's awesome, isn't it? It's perfect for those times when you just need to make an entrance. I've been hiding in that bush for an hour! Anyways, I'm your Grauntie Mabel! It's like Great-Aunt Mabel, but shorter. And you must be Stanley and Stanford."

"That's us," said Ford, still slightly shaken. He'd be stuck washing glitter out of his hair for the rest of summer.

"Well, nice to meet you. Welcome to Gravity Falls!" she exclaimed, holding out both arms for a handshake. Stan refused to oblige altogether and crossed his arms. Ford simply hung back and stared at her outstretched hand, before looking down at his own six-fingered ones. "Don't leave me hanging. I promise I don't bite!" Grauntie Mabel said, crouching down to his level.

He stuck his hand out, stared at his feet, and waited for Grauntie Mabel to notice his hands' unusual condition. It would be best to get the awkward staring and the standard set of probing questions out of the way early. She shook his hand without flinching and asked, "Six fingers, huh? I like it. It's a full finger friendlier than normal."

Ford was suitably surprised at the lack of a normal reaction. Then again, he'd suspected she wasn't a normal relative when she hid in a bush with a glitter cannon. He changed the subject anyway to avoid further pressing. "Um, thanks, I guess. So, what exactly do you do here in town?" he asked.

"I was just about to show you. I'll bring my car around to drive over there. You kids are going to love it..."

...

"Behold...the Mystery Shack!" she exclaimed, spreading her arms out wide to reveal the tourist trap that would double as a summer home to the twins. Lined across its walls were supposedly supernatural attractions that looked more like elaborate crafts than actual mysteries. A few tourists milled about, looking around the museum and snapping pictures. A redheaded teen boy sat behind the cash register, and a heavyset woman with an apron swept the floor.

Mabel animatedly walked forward, leading the twins on an impromptu tour. "I might as well show you around. Our first attraction is what I like to call the Puppy-Kitten-Duckling-Fawn, a rare combination of not one, but four different species of baby animals. Studies show that staring at it for more than five seconds can cause diabetes, sugar highs, and possible self-destruction just from the amount of adorableness in such a small area," she explained, motioning to a creature with the head of a puppy, the tail of a kitten, the body of a duck, and the legs of a fawn. Not only was it obviously fake, Ford found it unnerving as well. No living creature had eyes that huge and sparkly. He turned away from it, but found no relief from over-the-top cutesy exhibits and corny motivational posters. Everything in the shack seemed to contain glitter, rhinestones, or pink in some fashion.

"And over here is Waddles, the amazing Uni-Pig. He's like a unicorn, but less annoying. And a pig. This majestic creature can be found frolicking through sun-kissed green fields," she continued. The so-called Uni-Pig was actually alive, unlike the rest of the exhibits, and rested in a small pen. However, he was nothing more than a regular old pig with a paper-mâché horn strapped to his head. Waddles simply flopped onto the floor with a snort and dozed off like the truly majestic creature he was.

Mabel finished her spiel with, "Isn't this exciting? I promise we'll have a totally rad summer! Wait, do kids still say that?"

The twins' silence easily answered her question.

"Never mind. I might as well introduce you to my employees. You're going to like Dan Corduroy and Maria Ramirez," she said, changing the subject and leading them away.

...

After their whirlwind tour of the Shack, Ford sat down in the living room, turned on the TV, and flipped through channels. The adventure in the woods could wait a bit-after all, he had all summer to do that. After being stuck on a bus with his brother's relentless energy for hours, followed by meeting Grauntie Mabel and her glitter cannon, he wanted some time to himself. That lasted for all of thirty seconds, however. Just as the last show went to commercial break, Stan appeared behind him, sprawled onto the floor in front of the recliner, and began watching.

"Are you completely miserable?" asked a voiceover on the TV, which was followed by a shot of an actor sobbing. "Then you need to meet Lil' Bud. He's a psychic."

The commercial featured a silhouette of Bud, a flock of flying doves, and a circus tent topped with a star. To put it simply, Ford was intrigued. "Learn about tomorrow tonight at Bud's Tent of Telepathy," said the announcer, followed by a jumble of words read so fast it was impossible to understand.

"Grauntie Mabel?" he called.

She poked her head around the corner leading into the living room. "Yes?"

"Can we go to this Telepathy Tent thing tonight? It's right here in town and everything."

"I'm not sure about this. Kids, let me tell you something. Ever since I got here, the Tent of Telepathy has been my competition. They've been taking away my audience. You don't need to go there; you've got all the mystery you can find right here!"

"I don't know, it might be fun to go even if it is a sham," said Stan.

"Please, can you take us there? It's only one night and it sounds so interesting," added Ford.

"Okay, I suppose I could take you there. Just this one time won't hurt. Who knows? Maybe we can make the best of this. The people who run the Tent of Telepathy could be perfectly nice people for all I know and I've never given them a chance. Maybe we could all just get along."

...

"Step right up, one and all, to Lil' Bud's Tent of Telepathy! Learn about your future through his mystic psychic powers. All it takes is the small price of ten dollars in the psychic sack to enter a world of amazement!" called the man at the front of the tent while throngs of tourists were pushing and shoving each other to get inside. When Mabel and the twins approached him, he took notice of them. As Grauntie Mabel put their fares into the sack, the man gave her a wink and a smile, flashing his pearly white teeth the same color as his hair. As the crowds behind them were growing impatient, they moved into the tent and took their seats on the folding chairs that were set up in front of the stage.

After some time, the curtain pulled back to reveal the much-anticipated psychic. He was not what Ford envisioned, to say the least. Instead of the cool, mysterious man hinted at in the commercials, he was a tiny boy younger than him. As soon as Lil' Bud stepped out on stage to thunderous applause, he launched into a full-blown musical number. A collective "Aw!" sounded from the audience, including Grauntie Mabel. The crowd stood up in unison and began clapping to the rhythm of the admittedly catchy song. Ford found himself standing up with them, although not of his own accord.

As the show finished, Ford noticed the man who took their fares in the background, playing the piano. Bud stood awkwardly on the big stage, looking especially tiny while alone under the hot spotlights. "Do the wink," the man mouthed. Bud did as he was told and made the most adorable face he could, complete with the wink. The crowd predictably went wild.

"I just want to pinch his cheeks and feed him cookies," said Grauntie Mabel.

"Good night, America! You people are the real miracles," exclaimed Bud from onstage with a wave of his hand as the pyrotechnic effects went off and fireworks spelling his name shot into the air.

...

"That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I've never met the Gleefuls, so I'm glad I went." said Mabel as the three exited the tent flap to go to her car. It was as if they had just entered another world, returning from the bright flash and glitter of the Tent to the earthy brown colors and dusty roads of reality. Just as she finished speaking, the white-haired man who'd been playing the piano appeared.

"You are? That's a mighty fine relief. I was worried we'd make a bad first impression. Well, well, if it isn't Mabel Pines of Mystery Shack fame. Fancy seeing you 'round here. Who are the younguns? Grandchildren?"

"Great-nephews, actually."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Gideon Gleeful, and I run this Tent," he said as leaned unnecessarily close to Mabel's face and ignored the boys. "That was my little Bud out on stage there. He's quite the showman, isn't it? Say, I think it's time we put this silly ol' competition behind us. People like us should stick together, and I'd just love to get to know you better. How about I take you out to the fanciest restaurant in town tomorrow? We can discuss our business prospects, if you know what I mean."

"Sure! I'll see you then. Maybe we could get to know each other better. You know, as friends."

Gideon clasped his bolo tie with one hand. In the other, he pulled out a plush kitten with hearts for eyes from behind his back. In its paws was a card reading "You're Purr-fect." "It's a date," he said.

For an instant, Ford glimpsed shafts of turquoise light escaping from the bolo tie around Gideon's neck when he touched it. In addition, the stuffed animal had seemingly appeared out of nowhere with a similar otherworldly glow that faded after a second. In one second, his hand was empty; in the next, the kitten was there. He glanced at Mabel, and then Stan. Judging by their expressions, they hadn't seen anything unusual. However, Ford definitely had. He was going to get to the bottom of it.

"What a cute gift! That was so nice of you. How'd you know I would like it?" Grauntie Mabel asked, examining the stuffed animal.

"Lucky guess. I suppose it's like we were fated to meet."

"No, seriously. How did you know?"

Gideon chuckled and walked away without answering, only saying, "Oh, I have my ways."

...

"But it was glowing, Stan!"

"That stuff is so fake and you know it. It's all-what does Mom say? Just asking the right questions with a little showmanship. If you wanted to see a psychic, just call her," replied Stan as he lounged in the Shack's living room armchair upside-down. "Oh, boy. You've really gone into Conspiracy Theory Mode now. What's next, are you gonna get the tinfoil hats out again?"

"First of all: the tinfoil hats were a one-time thing. One time! When I was seven! Second of all, you talk about finding buried pirate treasure so you can't say anything. Thirdly, the amulet Gideon had glowed right before he pulled out the stuffed animal. There has to be something going on there."

"Psh. At least pirate treasure's real."

"It appeared as if he moved the kitten to his hand by bending its entire molecular structure to his whim. Perhaps the tie was some kind of device to channel this. Transporting objects in that manner is highly implausible, but not impossible. I saw something appear in his hand that hadn't been there previously..."

"It's all sleight of hand and distractions."

"Look, Stan, have you ever heard of anomalies? Occurrences just outside what's normal? Well, I think we've just found one: real magic," Ford said. Although he was most likely far too old to be doing so, viewing strange creatures as real gave him a comforting sense of escape from a more mundane reality. Besides, such anomalies had yet to be scientifically disproven. He knew. He'd checked.

Still skeptical, Stan raised an eyebrow.

"There's something strange about this, and I'm going to prove it. I'll even ask someone else what I should do about it," Ford continued, running into the next room. In the gift shop, he made a beeline to the first remotely familiar face he saw. "It's Maria, right? Can I ask you something?" he questioned to the woman who was sitting on the floor with tools spread around her.

The Shack's handywoman looked up from the shelf she was fixing and gave him a friendly smile. "Go ahead, niño."

"In the completely hypothetical situation in which somebody had reason to suspect somebody else of unscrupulous behavior, what would you do to find out what they're up to?" asked Ford, marking himself as the first twelve-year-old in history to use the word "unscrupulous" in a sentence.

"Oh, I'd just follow them everywhere until I knew all their deep, dark secrets. If you pick your hiding places well, they won't notice," she said in a strangely pleasant tone.

"That's not a bad idea, actually. Thanks! You helped a lot," Ford said, bursting into the living room once again. "Stan! Do you want to help me spy on Grauntie Mabel and Gideon's date tonight?"

"Spying on our great-aunt's date? Isn't this kind of going overboard?"

"If you help me, I'll do your chores once we get back home for a whole week."

Stan sat up dramatically, or at least as dramatically as he could with blood rushing to his head from sitting upside-down. He said, "You've got yourself a deal."


	2. Tent of Terror, Part 2

"And that was how I learned that giving makeovers to the undead was a bad idea. There's only so much I can do for skin care when my client doesn't have skin," Mabel said.

"Oh, do continue. That was such a creative story. You don't know how much you've brightened my day," replied Gideon, inching closer to her on the lush blue seats in the restaurant.

"Oh, stop! You know, I don't know a lot of people who appreciate the sparkly things in life like you do. You need to tell me your secret to how you get your hair that shiny."

"A little conditioner and a cold rinse works wonders. Just something I picked up from my days as a child star. I used to be the main star of the Tent myself, you know. Ah, good times."

A few tables away, Stan and Ford sat, surveying the conversation over glasses of bubbly water that cost a month's allowance each. It was the only thing on the menu they could afford. The restaurant, with its tuxedo-clad waiters and multiple sets of forks, was easily the most luxurious place they had ever seen in their lives. When they had entered the place, no less than two waiters had given them strange looks, but that was to be expected. They were merely two kids in homemade "disguises" that were comprised of a pair of sunglasses for Stan and a hat for Ford. However, they had successfully infiltrated the place, which was what really mattered.

"Did she just mention the undead?" Ford wondered out loud, before dismissing it. He filed that information away for later investigation.

Stan shrugged, obviously not paying much attention, and went back to building a haphazardly constructed tower out of napkins, glasses, and utensils on the table. It was a miracle he hadn't broken anything yet. Meanwhile, Ford returned to observing Gideon.

"I had a grand time with you tonight, Mabel. I only hope our future romantic endeavors will be as successful as this one," Gideon said.

An uncertain expression crossed Mabel's face. She was unable to do so much as look him in the eye. She pondered over her thoughts for a moment and said, "I like spending time with you, and I know you're a good man, but I think we should just be..."

"It's settled, then. I've already planned out a date for the town dance next Thursday."

"I think you might be misinterpreting our relationship a little bit. I don't..."

"Aw, don't be silly. I have a special surprise just for you. Jean-Luc, it's time," he replied, snapping his fingers in the air to gesture for the waiter.

The waiter rushed over, carrying a huge covered platter over his head. He lifted the silver cloche to reveal a pink-frosted cake inscribed with the words, "Mabel, will you accompany me to the dance?" Tiny lit sparklers with blue flame topped the cake and gave it an extra flair.

Mabel responded with, "Well, I..." before trailing off. Her widened eyes flitted to the other people nearby, who were staring at the spectacle. She opened her mouth and closed it into a pained expression, as she was at a loss for words. The conversations of the restaurant patrons around her were heard clearly as a bell.

"What a cute couple!"

"Have I seen them around before?"

"Wait! That's Li'l Bud's father. He owns the Tent of Telepathy."

"I love the Tent of Telepathy! I hope she says yes. I'll die if she doesn't."

A myriad of curious stares were aimed at her. With a resigned sigh, Mabel said, "Yes, I'll go to the dance with you."

The crowd applauded in approval. "I'm glad we agree," stated Gideon.

As Ford watched the events unfolding in front of them from their table, he tapped Stan on the shoulder to get him to pay attention. The action backfired, as Stan suddenly sat up from his slouch. The silverware tower was knocked over from the sudden movement. There was nothing left of it besides a trail of forks and glasses on the floor and table. "Darn it!" he exclaimed, causing more than a few heads to turn their way.

Ford opened a menu and hid his face behind it to avoid being seen by Grauntie Mabel while Stan picked utensils off the ground. The sound of footsteps coming towards their table was followed by someone tapping on Ford's menu cover. When he lowered the menu, he was startled to find Grauntie Mabel's face staring at him. "Boo!" she exclaimed.

"How'd you know we were here?"

"I can hear you, silly!" she replied, glancing at the knocked-over utensils. "So, what exactly are you doing here?"

"I...well, um...What are you doing here? Do you even like that Gideon guy?"

She glanced back at her table, where Gideon sat alone. "Well, you kids seem pretty bright, so I might as well tell you. I do like him," she said, "But more as a friend. I'm just not quite sure he understands that."

"Then why don't you just say that to him?" Stan piped up from under the table.

"He's been very nice to me and I don't want to hurt his feelings."

Just as she finished speaking, Gideon appeared behind Mabel and said, "Hello, boys. Mabel, I just don't want this night to end. Would you like to stop by my house on the way back? It'll be just the two of us."

"Actually, would you mind if they came with me? They don't have a ride home."

"Well, I've never been one to deny hospitality. Come on over; you can meet my son. I'm sure you'll get along just fine."

Ford jumped at the chance, putting money on the table for the food and leaving with Stan in tow. The date stakeout had given him no viable information on what Gideon did with that bolo tie. Perhaps there would be answers contained within the house. "We'll go," he replied quickly.

...

Ford realized that the Gleeful home was as out-of-touch with reality as the Tent was as soon as he entered it. The air was stuffy and dry in the living room, and the furnishings were no less than pristine. Pictures on the wall depicted both Bud and Gideon beaming at the camera, cultivating the image of a happy family. Outside was a little garden. The image was completed with fountains and stone statues that stood guard over an immaculately manicured lawn.

"Welcome to our home. Boys, why don't you run along down the hall and leave the adults to a conversation? Buddy's room is the last door on the right. I'm sure he'll be absolutely delighted to meet you," said Gideon the second they walked through the door.

The kids traversed the hallway to Bud's room, leaving Mabel and Gideon alone together. Through one of the hall doorways, Ford caught a glimpse of something odd. Past one door, he thought he saw a picture of Grauntie Mabel on the wall. Intrigued by the unexpected sight, he grabbed Stan by the arm and practically dragged him into the dark room.

"Wait, what are you doing? Why are you-oh. No way. Look at this! What's going on? When did he even take all these? Should we tell her?" Stan wondered. Sure enough, a collage containing only pictures of Mabel was taped to one wall, a few of which had hearts drawn around them in red permanent marker. Some were of her in the Shack, while others were of her out in town or with friends. There was no way he would be able to get pictures of a woman he just met the day before without doing some serious snooping.

"Let me look around some more. If Gideon keeps his pictures here, who knows what else he could be hiding?" replied Ford. He rummaged about on the dressing table, finding nothing but random knickknacks and jumbo bottles of hair gel.

"What do you think you're gonna find in there?" asked Stan as Ford continued his search around the room. Returning to the Mabel collage, Ford inspected the photos again. One seemed to be on a slightly raised surface than the rest. He lifted the photo to reveal a tiny red button implanted into the wall.

"I don't know. Is this good enough for you?" he said to Stan with a smirk.

"A secret button? Well, maybe there is something here. Let's press it."

Ford's hand hovered over the button for a second, debating over whether to press it despite the multitude of things that could possibly go wrong. What if it was a trap or an alarm that let Gideon know of their whereabouts? Mysterious red buttons were never good news. Then again, he could be wrong. It might give him the answers he wanted. That possibility was enough to sway his decision. He took the risk and pressed the button.

There was a moment of silent tension building. They held their breaths as they waited for something, anything, to happen. Then, an almost imperceptible click was heard within the room. Ford spun around in time to see a hidden drawer on the old dressing table pop open. They tiptoed over to the secret compartment and peered inside to discover whatever Gideon had deemed worthy of being kept away from the public. There was only one thing kept in the drawer: a journal.

Ford's face spread into a slack-jawed grin as he pulled the book out to inspect it further. It had obviously seen better days; the yellowed pages and torn cover proved that much. The thick volume was blue in color except for the shining silver pine tree in the center with a "2" scrawled onto it. He opened the book, only to find that the part where the author's name would've been was ripped out. Of course it was. Further pages revealed an anthology of strange creatures that previously only existed in the realms of fantasy and science fiction. Details of specific phenomena were written inside, which were often accompanied by hand-drawn illustrations. One page was titled "Mystic Amulets" and had a picture of what looked eerily like Gideon's bolo tie.

"Stan, this is amazing!" Ford whispered. "It's as if Gravity Falls is a hotspot for everything paranormal and supernatural. Why did Gideon want to hide this so much? What if it's all true?"

"Um, Ford? I think we have bigger things to worry about right now."

The door had swung open to reveal Gideon's looming shadow in the doorway. Ford panicked and shoved the journal into its drawer, but it was too late. Gideon must've seen them enter the wrong room. "Buddy's room is next door. Did you get lost?" he asked.

The boys nodded frantically.

"Didn't your daddy ever teach you it was wrong to lie? Now, what's the real reason you were in here?" he asked, demeanor remaining as sugary as it had always been.

"We saw all those pictures you took! Why do you keep trying to get with our great-aunt? She doesn't want to date you. Why would she? Your hair's super dumb! It's gotta be a foot tall!"

Ford prayed to some higher power that Stan would shut up and not get them into more trouble. It was too late for that. Gideon's expression darkened. His voice remained soft, and still held the same sweetness as before despite the subject matter. He said, "You shouldn't be here. I see what you were doing. You were trying to steal my secrets, weren't you? Then, once you were done sullyin' my reputation, you were going to take my darling Mabel away. I don't know what you're after, but I can't let that go unpunished. And by the way, my hair takes exactly forty-six minutes and thirteen seconds to style every morning. I'd suggest you don't insult it." His hand reached up to grasp the bolo tie at his neck.

"What's going on here?"

Ford breathed a sigh of relief as Mabel appeared outside the door. Gideon wouldn't do anything horrible to them with her around, right? He visibly relaxed his shoulders, setting his face into an expression of pleasantness. "Why, I was just showing these boys to Bud's room. Actually, why don't I bring him out to them? Bud, come here! And Mabel? Won't you come along with me? I'm positive the boys will get along just swell!" Gideon said, leading Mabel away to another room before returning shortly after.

"Bud, will you please escort Stanley and Stanford elsewhere? This room has some of my private belongings that are quite dear to me," instructed Gideon. His voice dropped to a whisper as he addressed Bud alone. Taking off his bolo tie, he pressed it into his son's tiny hand. "You know what to do. Just like I showed you," he said. With one last glance behind him, Gideon was gone. He closed and locked the door behind him to return to Mabel. Ford, Stan, and Bud were the only ones remaining.

When Bud held up the amulet, the gem in the center glowed an electric blue. The journal lifted from its drawer and moved into his hand, it too glowing. He clutched the book tightly until his knuckles turned white.

Ford's heart skipped a beat as the seemingly impossible happened before his eyes. "How...how'd you do that?" he asked once he had regained the capacity to speak.

Bud didn't answer and lifted a hand into the air. Ford and his brother were simultaneously surrounded in a blue glow. The floor grew smaller beneath his feet as he levitated into the air.

Even the room itself was under Bud's control. The lightbulbs on the dressing table shattered one by one. A box opened to reveal a collection of Tent of Telepathy-themed throwing knives. The entire room was uplifted into a swirling blue vortex of displaced furniture and old Tent merchandise with Bud at its epicenter. From below, he stared up at them with a pout. "I'm sorry," he managed to get out. "It's nothing personal. But my daddy said that there are secrets in this here journal that are beyond comprehension. He just doesn't want it falling into the wrong hands. All I want you to do is to promise to let the journal be and forget you ever saw it, and I'll put you down just fine. Please listen to me. I don't want to have to do anything worse to you."

"Grauntie Mabel! Help us!" Ford yelled. He tried to scream again, but suddenly found himself unable to do so much as breathe. It was as if the air itself was ripped out of his lungs. The amulet's hold over him increased. No matter how much he struggled to move, he remained frozen in midair. He saw Stan thrashing wildly in a futile attempt to break free, but he too was unable to do so much as yell for help.

Bud lifted the knives into the air and pointed them at his victims, the gleaming blades uncomfortably close to their necks. Ford wondered if he truly was going to die at the hands of a small child with magic jewelry.

To Ford's immense relief, Mabel had heard his call. She burst into the room with surprising strength, managing to get past the locked door before Gideon could stop her. She gasped at the sight before her. Bud lost his concentration and dropped the boys back to the ground. The furniture and throwing knives fell to the floor immediately after, causing a spectacular crash.

"Distract Bud and I'll get the amulet from him," whispered Ford. Stan understood, nodding in response. He charged at Bud from behind and tackled him to the ground, causing the journal to fly out of his hand. While Stan was older, taller, and undoubtedly the better fighter, Bud's amulet offered him the advantage. As soon as Stan aimed a fist in his direction, Bud used the magical object to push his hand away. It was impossible to even get close to him.

"What's going on?" yelled Mabel. "Gideon, what did you do?"

"I have no part in this! I can't control what my son does, and I didn't have any idea of this. I assure you, the situation will be brought under control...eventually. The children will be fine."

"He's lying! He told us he was going to punish us for coming in this room. He gave Bud that amulet and put him up to this so he wouldn't look bad in front of you! Also, he has pictures of you on his wall. They're over there if you want to see them," Ford said.

"Ford, c'mon! Help me!" said Stan. He joined his brother in attempting to pry the amulet out of Bud's hand. Bud was unable to defend himself from two people at once, and Stan knew it. As Stan aimed a fist at Bud's face, Ford was able to snatch the amulet while Bud was busy trying to deflect the punch.

"Ford, will you please hand me the amulet?" Mabel asked. Bud lunged at the bolo tie one last time, but Ford threw up a hand to dodge him and underhandedly tossed it to her. Just as Gideon tensed up and started slowly walking towards Ford, she used the amulet to stop him in his tracks. He froze in place with a hateful scowl drawn across his features. He was trapped in more ways than one. His lies were unable to take him any further.

"Gideon, we need to talk. I need to tell you how I really feel. I thought we could just be friends at first. But after all this? After taking pictures of me before we met? After those kids were threatened with knives? I never want to talk to you again! Was all that stuff about you telling your son to hurt my great-nephews true?"

"They were getting in the way of our love, my sweet peach."

"I'm not your sweet peach!"

Bud and the twins stood up slowly after their fight and watched in stunned silence as Mabel lifted Gideon and sent him flying back to the floor with the amulet. A cardboard box filled with packing peanuts broke the fall, but it would still take time for him to get up. Then, she threw the amulet against the wall. With a puff of smoke, it was destroyed. After she caught her breath, she turned to face Stan and Ford. She said, "I think we've been here long enough. Alright, kiddos. Let's go home."

The fall had left Gideon in a haze. He stared at the ceiling as time seemed to quicken into a hazy, indiscernible blur. As Bud rushed to help his father up, neither Gleeful noticed Ford quietly pick something up off the floor and tuck it inside his jacket. Before he knew it, the Pineses left the room.

"Don't think you can just walk away after obliterating my amulet. I'll be back! You'll regret the day you ruined my life! Just you wait!" Gideon called after her while still half-lying in the box. "Oh! Mabel, are you still available for the dance on Thursday? I might find it in my heart to forgive you for what you've done today if you just say yes."

The door slammed shut, and the sound of Mabel's car screeching as it drove away followed shortly after.

"I'll take that as a 'maybe.' Say, what happened to the journal?"

...

"Oh, man! That was awesome!" exclaimed Stan, bouncing up and down in his seat as they fled the Gleeful's house in Grauntie Mabel's car. "Didja see me tackle Bud Gleeful in there? I thought that psychic act was all fake, but after all the freaky magic stuff, I don't even know anymore!"

"Those people didn't hurt you, did they? Are you okay?"

"No, we're fine! So, what was that? Was it magic? Science? Magical science?" asked Ford, a part of him wishing Grauntie Mabel hadn't destroyed the amulet so he could study it.

"There's no other way to explain what you saw in that house, so I'm going to be up front with you. Magic and weird creatures are all a hundred and ten percent real," she said. "I could be a responsible adult and tell you to never think about them ever again, but we all know you weren't going to listen to me if I did that."

"Really? You aren't going to yell at us?" Ford asked incredulously, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. She seemed so nonchalant about it, as if she was telling the kids to play on the playground instead of confirming the existence of the supernatural.

"Sure, you kids should be able to go out and have fun! A little harmless exploring never hurt anyone. Just don't get hurt or get in over your heads. Oh, and don't summon any demons. That wouldn't be fun."

"Wait, what?"

"Eh, forget I said that."

Before the twins could process what had been said, the car pulled up in front of the Mystery Shack and halted with a screech."Since you just got here, why don't you pick one thing from the gift shop. On the house," said Grauntie Mabel as she threw open the car door.

"What's the catch?" Ford asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Who cares? You get free stuff! Just pick something before she changes her mind," replied his brother. He got out of the car, took off into the gift shop as quickly as he could, and began scanning the shelves for the perfect item while Ford and their great-aunt trailed behind. No piece of kitschy tourist merchandise went unturned, and no price tag was left unread.

"Aw, can't I just do something for my favorite great-nephews? There's no catch," Grauntie Mabel replied.

"Well, I guess I could find something in here," Ford replied. He searched the shelves for only a minute before pulling out a pair of hand-knitted mittens from a forgotten shelf on the bottom and putting them on over his six-fingered hands. He didn't need to hear about them from jerks all summer. He was in a new location, after all. Nobody else had to know about them. It was a new start.

"Hey, look what I found!" Stan exclaimed. He ran up to his brother, holding a small box not unlike the ones used to hold jewelry. With a grin, he opened it to reveal a gold-plated pin in a crescent shape and showed it off to everyone else in the room.

"Stan, are you sure? Wouldn't you rather have a toy or something?" their great-aunt asked.

"Are you kidding? I have to take advantage of this. It's the most expensive thing in the Shack. If I'm gonna have the choice of anything here, I might as well get my money's worth, ya know?" Stan replied. He removed the pin from the box and attached it to his t-shirt in a slightly lopsided fashion. "It's perfect," he said with a gap-toothed grin.

"Then it's yours!"

...

Nighttime had fallen over town. The stars were out and the deep indigo sky was clearer than it had ever been in New Jersey. There was something intimate about being awake after the rest of town had gone to sleep, as if nature itself was sharing a secret. Long after the Shack had closed for the night, the attic's lights remained on. Ford was too energized to go to sleep, and he hadn't even bothered to change out of his day clothes or unpack anything into their room for the summer. Instead, he took what would surely become his prized possession out from under his jacket. The tattered cover of the journal stared back at him. Grauntie Mabel may have told them of the weirder side of town, but she didn't know about this.

Just as he opened to the first page, he felt a shifting of weight on the bed from behind and slammed the book shut again. He spun around to look at his brother, who had flopped onto the bed. "Whatcha reading?" he asked.

"It's nothing, I..." Ford began, realizing quickly that it was useless to try and hide it. He might as well share the book with him.

"Is that the spooky journal thing? Did you steal that? I bet you did. You actually had the guts to steal a super-secret nerd book from psychics!"

"Shh! Don't be so loud. Someone could hear us."

"I'm so proud of you! I didn't think you had it in you, Poindexter. Must be my influence finally rubbing off on you, huh?" Stan said, elbowing Ford in the side. "Now, come on. Show me!"

Ford reopened the journal to the first page, switched off the bedside light, and replaced it with a nearby flashlight. "After completing my first journal," he read out loud in a hushed whisper, "I have decided to continue recording my encounters with the strange anomalies of Gravity Falls, Oregon..."

...

Unbeknownst to the two boys on the floor above, Mabel was awake as well. Her face was drawn into an uncharacteristically serious expression as she crossed the Shack's ground floor in her fuzzy bunny slippers and nightgown. When she reached the vending machine, she checked her surroundings to see if there were any spying eyes trained on her.

She punched a code into the keypad of the machine to make it swing open like a door, revealing a hole in the wall leading to a passageway to the basement. There was a faint blue glow visible from what was contained beyond the secret door that Mabel entered. She took one last peek behind her to be safe, and then shut the door. The Shack was left dark and silent, as if she had never been there at all.

 **WKH VXPPHU DZDLWV.**


	3. Robot Woman, Part 1

With every page of the journal that Ford thumbed through, his unadulterated glee mounted. Who knew there were strange events and supernatural creatures right under their noses? He was unable to keep the grin off his face as his eyes scanned the contents, about ready to scream from excitement. Mystic amulets, UFOs, blood rain, squid creatures, and countless other secrets were concealed within the pages. The world had remained the same, but his perception of it had changed overnight. To add to the excitement, it was only the second in a series of journals. Who knew that many more were still out there somewhere, waiting to be rediscovered?

The paragraphs written on the worn pages were penned in a neat, precise handwriting and were punctuated by intricate drawings of the oddities featured. Ford imagined another person poring over the journal just as he was, writing about their latest discovery. He had no clue who the author was, as he didn't think Gideon Gleeful would be capable of making anything like it. No matter who the author was, though, he wanted to make it his mission to find out before the end of summer. There was so much left to know; he wasn't even sure how it ended up with the Gleefuls to begin with.

The book was a dream come true. Every fantasy he and Stanley had had about having wild adventures and becoming treasure hunters was close to becoming a reality. In fact, it went beyond everything he'd ever wished for. There were days to be spent going through every single page of that journal.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shout of, "Ford! Time to get up. I have a surprise for you today."

It was unmistakably Grauntie Mabel's voice coming from outside the bedroom. Ford shot up into a sitting position, tossing the bedsheets off his head. It was morning already, apparently. He had spent the entire night under the covers while reading the journal by flashlight. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his day clothes. Long after Stan had returned to his own bed for the night, Ford remained awake.

"Coming!" he yelled back, blinking his heavy eyes. Stan's bed was already empty, he noticed. His attention focused on the journal again. The first thing he did was to tuck it under his jacket as quickly as possible to keep it away from unwanted attention. After brushing his teeth and running a comb through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it, he ran out the door.

In the kitchen sat Grauntie Mabel and Stan, eating pancakes entirely drenched in syrup and rainbow sprinkles. Both wore matching sweaters with their names emblazoned in neon green thread across the front. Stan's displeasure of that development was written all over his face, but their great-aunt either didn't notice or simply ignored it. She then tossed a near-identical sweater with his name on it in Ford's direction before asking, "Did you know what day it is?"

"It's-"

"It's Family Fun Day!" she said, cutting Ford off. "Since you just got here, I thought we could do some family bonding!"

Ford mulled over the statement, wondering what exactly she was trying to do. It wasn't as if his parents were the type to try "family bonding." He wouldn't have been surprised if there was some ulterior motive involved. After all, things would probably turn illegal quickly like their last attempt at bonding. "This won't turn out like that time you had us paint the mayor's car pink, will it?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"For the last time, it wasn't 'vandalism.' This town just didn't appreciate my artistry."

"That night we spent in jail says differently."

"Okay, but I promise you we won't do anything illegal this time. Most of the town is going fishing, but that's not really my thing, so I figured we could camp out in the woods tonight. It'll be fun, just the three of us! We'll be out under the stars, and we can tell stories. And I'll get to know you two better."

The twins exchanged a glance. Stan rolled his eyes and pulled at the collar of the itchy sweater. This wasn't exactly what Ford had had in mind for his summer adventures, but Grauntie Mabel was beaming at them expectedly. She truly seemed excited. He decided to go along with it for one night despite his other plans, pulling the brightly-colored sweater over his head. Who knew? Maybe they'd find something else in the woods. "We'll go," he said begrudgingly. It was mostly to see what would happen, he told himself.

...

As he laid down on his sleeping bag, Ford knew with absolute certainty that listening to Grauntie Mabel sing off-key campfire songs for an hour wasn't what he planned to do this summer.

"Ford?" he heard Stan ask. His messy-haired head popped up from the sleeping bag opposite him.

"Yes?"

"What do you think Grauntie Mabel's playing at?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, something just feels off about her. Nobody's that happy all the time. I mean, she seems okay now and all, and she did save our butts from those psychic guys, but I know it won't last. It never does."

"She hasn't mentioned the psychic incident since. She's not even shocked. It's so strange," Ford responded. In addition to that, he felt like nobody had tried to get to know them before. Throughout his life, it had been him and Stan against the world. Why would that change now? "What, do you think she's owner of the Shack by day and evil mastermind by night?" he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Oh man, that would be real funny. But I wouldn't go that far. She's probably just acting nice to us in front of the town. Gotta put on a show for the tourists. She's too good to be true. Nobody that sappy exists in real life outside of greeting cards. It's only a matter of time before she drops the smiles-and-rainbows act. Then things will get really interesting," Stan replied.

As he wondered about Mabel's motives, he looked at the woods stretching beyond the flaps of the tent. There was still the tiniest spark of hope residing within them that Grauntie Mabel had meant what she said; that maybe she was genuine in her embarrassingly sweet ways. He wasn't sure whether to believe his brother or not.

It was almost dark now, as the sun had long since dipped beneath the pine trees. In his attempt to focus on something else besides their great-aunt's snoring, he strained to listen to the faint chirps of birds and the rustling of wind between tree branches. Another sound joined the mix. It was barely audible, but he could make out the sound of feet slapping against the dirt trail outside their campsite.

"Wait, I think someone's near here. I can hear them running this way," observed Stan, apparently having picked up the same thing he did. Neither had been able to find a wink of sleep, as Ford was an expert at staying up all night and Stan was too energized from the six s'mores he had eaten at the campfire right before bed.

"Over where?"

"Outside the tent."

The running ceased, but was replaced by labored, heavy breathing. Ford motioned to Stan, and he understood in an instant. While he put a finger to his lips to instruct Stan to stay quiet, he climbed out of his sleeping bag. They made sure to pull the sweaters off; Ford replaced his with the jacket the journal was tucked into. Stan grabbed a flashlight and flicked it on. Before Grauntie Mabel could wake up, they exited the tent as stealthily as they could. They tiptoed forward across the path, focused on nothing else but source of the noise. Well, Ford did, at least. Stan was busy shining the flashlight under his chin to cast his face in all sorts of strange shadows and motioning his brother to look at him.

Suddenly, a dark shape darted across the hiking trail next to the campgrounds. Stan pointed the flashlight in its general direction. Meanwhile, Ford was ready to face it, even if whatever it was happened to be nothing more than a lost tourist. He braced himself, keeping a steady distance from the thing just in case it was dangerous. After finding the journal, he knew there was no end to what could possibly lurk in the forest. His suspicions were revealed to be unfounded when the unknown person let out a distinctly human yelp and threw his hands up to block the sudden beam of light shining in his eyes. Of all things, it was a kid about their age running about in the woods. The revelation was both relieving and a bit disappointing.

The boy's eyes were widened, and he was panting from lack of breath. His glasses were askew, brambles stuck out of his hair, and his once-neat clothes had been stained by mud. "I saw it again! I know I did. It was right there; right in front of my own two eyes! Boy, am I glad to see someone else out here. It's been ages. I started to think I was getting lost. I didn't want to live in these woods forever!" he rambled, voice soft-spoken and breathy even in panic.

"Wait, slow down. Who are you? What'd you see?"

"Oh, right. I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Fiddleford McGucket," he replied, adjusting his glasses. "I don't think I've seen y'all around here before."

"Well, yeah. We just came for the summer. I'm Ford, and that's my brother Stan," he said. Ford then addressed the most burning question on his mind and asked, "So what did you see in the woods?"

"It was...well, it was a robot! Cross my heart, it's really true. I was walking through the woods to get home and I got lost and saw this robot monster woman! She was hollering really loud, and going on and on 'bout the end of the world!" he exclaimed. By that point, he was shaking like a leaf. The twins eyed him, processing what he'd just heard.

"You saw a robot? In the middle of the woods?" Ford questioned. The monsters photographed in the journal were mostly more of the fantasy type than science fiction, but he supposed nothing could surprise him in this town anymore.

"Yeah, aren't robots supposed to live in space or the future or something?" added Stan.

"I know...I know it sounds crazy. I understand if you don't believe me."

"Last week, I wouldn't have. And then some psychics with a magic necklace almost killed us. We've already seen crazy," Stan explained.

Fiddleford was visibly relieved, his expression filled with hope. "Really?" he asked. "Nobody in this town ever notices anything. Even my own family doesn't believe a darn thing I say anymore."

"Wait. Why don't we all go check it out?" suggested Ford, remembering the journal tucked within the folds of his jacket.

"Now? What are we gonna do about Grauntie Mabel?" replied his twin.

"She's sleeping. We'll be back before she wakes up. This thing could be getting ready for the end of days, you know. Isn't that more important?"

After mulling it over for a split second, he changed his tune and exclaimed, "You know what? You're right. Let's do this!" He pumped his fist in the air and ran up just ahead of them.

Fiddleford, who had been watching the twins' conversation, turned to Ford. "You know, I want to do this, but not if it'll get you in trouble with your aunt. We could go back there another time if you want," he said, crossing his arms and kicking a rock on the forest floor.

"No, it's okay. Besides, if there is an evil robot out there, it's better if we defeat it now. Who knows? Maybe it's trying to exterminate humanity," Ford replied. Prospects of getting to truly live out the adventures in the journal danced in his mind, as well as getting an opportunity to escape the boredom and loud snoring that awaited them in the tent.

"Come on, slowpokes!" Stan yelled from ahead of them. "You guys coming or what?"

Both of the other boys reassured their affirmation, before running ahead. The campgrounds, along with the last fading traces of daylight, soon vanished from sight entirely as they became enveloped into the depths of the forest.


	4. Robot Woman, Part 2

Ford wiped his brow and pushed a branch out of the way while continuing to trudge forward. They had gone off the main trail ages ago, and drew closer to the heart of the forest with every step. Not even a sliver of moonlight permeated the thick forest canopy anymore. "Are we lost?" he asked with a sigh.

"I hope not. We're almost there. At least, I think so," Fiddleford replied, worry creeping into his voice.

"Wait! What's that?" Stan exclaimed, swinging the flashlight to point at something. Through a thin beam of light, an old, wooden cabin was visible.

It was a decent distance away from where they stood, but Fiddleford seemed to recognize it instantly. "Never mind, then! We're not lost. There it is! I know that's the place I saw," he said. In front of the cabin, a bright sign read "Do Not Enter This Property." Of course, it was walked past and promptly ignored.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"We can't just run in there, Stan."

"Aw, why not?"

"Because if there is a robot in the woods, it won't be happy to find random kids snooping around their property. We need to go slowly," Ford explained. They tiptoed forward, with Stan shining the flashlight ahead of him. The tension in the air was undeniable. Ford winced every time a stick or leaf crunched underneath his foot. He saw Fiddleford practically jumping out of his skin at even the smallest of noises.

They moved forward and were much closer to the cabin without obstacles, which made Ford suspicious. It seemed too easy to just walk up to a building that was supposedly dangerous. He could've sworn murderous robots would have better security systems. The possibility of there being nothing in the cabin at all presented itself as well. Maybe Fiddleford was lying or had another plan in mind. There were countless reasons why he could have dragged complete strangers into the woods at night.

His worries were interrupted when he felt something cold and smooth under his sneaker. He looked down to see that he'd stepped on a strip of tarnished metal embedded into the ground. Between the darkness of the woods and the dirt that partially covered it, he hadn't seen it coming at all. From what he was able to see, he guessed it formed a ring around the entire cabin. He stepped off of it instantly, but it was too late. His heart threatened to pound through his ears, and his breath caught in his throat. "Hey, look what I found!" he said in a vain attempt to warn the others after his voice returned to him.

They barely had time to look up at him before a deafening, synthesized call of "Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" blared from an unseen speaker. The entire area was suddenly illuminated in flashing red lights. The part of the plate Ford had stepped on, which most have been a motion detector of some sort, glowed the same color.

The boys stared at the horror unfolding before their eyes. Panels in the forest floor that had previously been invisible slid open. With a mechanized hiss, a group of robots rose out of the ground. They surrounded the kids on every side, metal feet stomping against the ground towards them, with their eyes glowing an angry red. Apparently Fiddleford had been right all along. "So much for going slowly," Stan remarked.

"It's the robot army! Run for your lives!" screamed Stan at the top of his lungs as his voice momentarily cracked into an embarrassingly high register. None of them needed to be told twice. They sprinted away from the cabin as fast as their legs could take them, trailing after Stan. Unfortunately, it wasn't fast enough. A group of at least ten robots that were all twice their size easily outmatched a few kids. It didn't matter which direction they fled; there was always a robot blocking the way to escape. They ran in pursuit at a surprisingly fast speed, never slowing or tiring.

As he ran from the robots, Ford was able to get a good look at them for the first time. They were humanoid in appearance, but their metal bodies were rusted in places and appeared to be constructed out of random spare parts with no rhyme or reason. Their joints squeaked when they ran, but their speed wasn't hampered in the least.

Soon, he found himself standing back to back with the others. Their breathing was heavy and labored. The robots gathered in a circle around them that made escape impossible. They weren't randomly chasing them, Ford realized. They had strategically herded him and the others like sheep into a specific spot. He internally scolded himself for not figuring that out sooner.

"We've gotta get out of here. Ford, do something," his brother whispered. Two sets of widened eyes stared at him expectedly. He pulled the journal out of his jacket and frantically thumbed through the pages, but nothing there was remotely relevant to their situation. Meanwhile, a panel on the forearm of each robot opened in perfect synchronization to reveal a plethora of ray guns pointed directly at them.

Because of the pressure of being put on the spot and the imminent threat of death, Ford utterly panicked. He had no clue of what to do, and possessed no clever escape he could execute at the last minute. If the robots started firing those guns, they were all done for. Himself, his brother, and a kid they'd just met that night would be reduced to a pile of ashes. If he'd had a bit more time to plot a rescue plan, it would be a different story. However, time was a commodity he didn't have.

Just as he closed his eyes and braced himself for the worst, an invisible force field materialized around where they were standing. The robots kept their weapons out, but did not fire.

While the force field appeared to be nothing more than a glowing square of red on the ground that was otherwise unseen, it was essentially a barrier preventing them from moving more than a foot in any direction. Stan found out about its existence quickly once he reached his hand out to touch the barrier. He pressed his hands against the field that boxed them in, testing its boundaries. From the outside, he looked like an especially talented mime.

Was the field there to protect them from the robots or trap them further? Was it an escape or just a way to delay the inevitable? Ford didn't know. He could only stare as two of the robots parted to make room in the circle for an approaching figure.

The three boys gaped at the new person, who was an older woman around Mabel's age. Her hunched back, apparent age, and tattered clothes didn't stop the robots from standing at attention for her. Her most striking feature by far was the cybernetic parts of her body, which included visible metal enhancers on her arms that were crisscrossed with wires.

"I wonder what thing almost got past my security systems," she muttered to herself. When she took sight of the kids, she did a double take to examine them further. She mumbled something else that was almost unintelligible to them while she did so. They almost managed to make out something about their eyes looking human. It was strange as all get out, but Ford didn't dwell on it. He had bigger problems at the moment.

While they were here, Ford took it upon himself to ask questions. He was positive that the cyborg woman in front of him, while not exactly a robot, was exactly what Fiddleford had seen in the woods. He had to find out what her plans were. "Who are you? What is all this? Where did you get those robots? What are you gonna do to us?" he asked in rapid-fire succession.

"Well, since you were just trespassing on my property, and are the closest ones to getting past my security systems in a long time, there's only one thing I can do to you," she replied.

"Kill us?" Ford asked, the whites of his eyes showing from fear.

"Kidnap us?"

"Harvest our brains and turn us into your robot minions?" Fiddleford asked, waving his arms frantically.

"No! I will let you go. I won't hurt the only people I've seen in a very long time."

"Huh?"

"I haven't seen another human in thirty years. Or was it twenty-nine...or...how do years work again? Oh well. It doesn't matter. I am Candy Chiu. And you are...?"

Ford stared incredulously at the others before turning back to her and giving their first names. He then asked, "What is all this for? What are you planning?"

"These are security guards! I made them out of many years' worth of scrap metal from the junkyard. They're designed to trap out anything in these woods that could possibly be a danger. Look, they have access to the radio, too!" she explained, pressing a button on the arm of the robot closest to her. The ray gun retreated into its arm panel. It was instantly replaced by a tiny radio, complete with speakers and an antenna. From the radio, an overly auto-tuned pop song from some boy band blasted at full volume. The woman grinned exuberantly, clearly proud of her creations.

After the line, "Girl, you got me ackin' so cray-cray," she pressed the button again to stop it.

"But why did you build all these here robots in the first place?" Fiddleford asked.

"It's just been me and whatever things I built myself for as long as I can remember. I know something bad is going to happen. Might as well be prepared," she replied, shrugging her bony shoulders. "All I know is that I found out that something big was coming, and I put everything into preparing for it. At some point, I got a bit carried away. That's when I installed these robotic parts into my body! It's the natural improvement of human being."

Ford had no idea how to respond to her rambling. What he did gain, though, was that she wasn't murderous at all. If she was telling the truth, she was just a regular person who isolated herself from the world because of fear. Fear of what, exactly, he didn't know.

"So, are you going to let us go now? We need to find our way back to town," Stan asked, breaking the silence.

"Oh! Right," she said. Candy pulled a remote out of her pocket and pressed a button. The glowing square at their feet grew dark. Stan stepped forward, knowing the barrier had been taken down. The others followed suit.

"You boys seem harmless enough. Just remember...I wouldn't go around telling people about what you saw tonight if I were you. By the way, have I ever met you two before? My memories are a bit foggy," she said, pointing directly to the twins.

"No, Stan and I are new here."

"Well, something about you two seemed familiar. Never mind," she replied. Two of the robots parted way, leaving a clear path to the open woods. Her expression turned to one of pure seriousness. "Be careful, yes? It gets so lonely by myself. Sometimes I wonder how I got here."

"Yeah. We'll...we'll remember that." Ford said.

They turned to walk away, leaving the recluse and her robots in her wake. "Thanks for not killing us!" Stan called over his shoulder. Soon, the view of them and the cabin vanished from sight entirely. "So," Stan said, as energetic as he'd been before the incident. "How are we gonna get back to the campsite?"

...

By the time the tops of tents in the campsite came into view, yet another morning was dawning in Gravity Falls. Ford hoped that Grauntie Mabel hadn't woken up and discovered their absence yet. His eyelids had grown heavy, and the mosquitoes had practically eaten them alive. It had taken them hours of aimless wandering to get back to the spot, but they were all safe and alive. That was enough of a victory.

Soon, they were standing outside their great-aunt's hot pink tent. From the faint sounds of snoring coming from inside, it was evident that she was not awake.

"Well, that just happened," said Fiddleford. "I sure am scarred for life, boy howdy! I have to go now. My folks are probably worried sick. Anyway, I wonder if I could make one of those robots for myself..."

"Same here. Say, we're here for the summer. Maybe we'll see you around again sometime," replied Stan.

"Yeah, sure. See you around," he responded. He turned and walked down the main trail towards wherever he lived, leaving the twins behind.

"Do you think we should give Grauntie Mabel a chance? Maybe she is trying to be nice to us," Ford wondered out loud.

"Was this because of what that old lady said in the woods?"

"I guess."

"Or what? We'll end up living in the forest alone and scaring kids with robots?"

"Something like that."

"You aren't going to show her the journal, are you?"

Ford instinctively clutched the book under his jacket. "Not yet. Maybe another time," he said.

Grauntie Mabel had begun to stir. In response, Stan tossed him a lump of wooly, neon sweater that had been unceremoniously thrown into a corner the night before. "Come on. If I have to suffer through these things, then so do you," Stan said, pulling his over his head.

Their great-aunt sat up and stretched. With a yawn, she said, "Morning, kids."

Despite its initial itchiness, Ford truly didn't hate the sweater as much as he expected. Pulling it over his head, he knew it would only be on for a few more hours. He could live with that.

 **ZKB GRQ'W L UHPHPEHU?**


	5. Stan the Man, Part 1

"It's not what it looks like! Trust me, I can explain."

Stan was cornered. The quizzical gazes of Ford and Grauntie Mabel bored into him. He felt heat creep into his cheeks, and desperately hoped that they hadn't turned red. That was the last thing he needed. "I just put the movie on last night to help me fall asleep. Because it was so boring, ya know? The TV remote was all the way across the room! I was too tired to get up and change the channel," he said.

"Since when are you ever tired?"

He truly had watched the movie because he couldn't find the remote-at first, that was. Of course, Ford just had to sell him out. Now, there was no escape. The evidence was undeniable. When Ford descended the stairs from their bedroom that morning, followed shortly by Grauntie Mabel coming from her own room, Stan was done for. He had been caught red-handed while committing the most unimaginable crime known to man: watching girly movies. They weren't just any girly movies, either. They were old-person girly movies.

Of course, he didn't actually enjoy watching them. There was nothing he could've possibly gained from watching ancient black-and white films that put the credits at the beginning of the movie instead of the end and had no explosions or fistfights. Most importantly, he did not cry when the Duchess stood up against her overbearing, strict mother. Not one bit. Well, maybe a tiny bit.

The movie kept playing in the background.

"I simply cannot believe you!" the Duchess exclaimed, holding a hand to her forehead as if she was about to faint. "Why would you plant one invitation for the annual cotillion in the parlor? Now all the ladies are fighting for it!"

"Maybe, dear Duchess, that was the plan all along," replied the cunning Count Lionel. He threw back his head and cackled while twirling his handlebar mustache. Strains of piano music swelled in the background.

"And I thought I was the only old lady around here," said Grauntie Mabel with a chuckle.

Stan scowled. "I told you I was only watching it because I couldn't find the remote."

"You're watching the Black and White Period Piece Old Lady Boring Movie Channel. The Duchess Approves Part II will return after these messages," said the announcer on TV. Mabel was unable to contain herself any longer and laughed, although she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle it shortly after. Ford only showed a hint of a smirk before suppressing it, but that was enough to notice.

They were laughing at him. Stan's face and ears burned a bright red. He shrunk under their gazes. It had been forever since he'd last felt that small and weak.

"Sure you were. Sorry, I just didn't expect you to like that kind of thing," Mabel replied.

Stan grabbed the remote and pressed the off button as hard as he could. The TV screen went to black. Even the idea of enjoying that movie felt unbelievably dumb at that point. "Aw, c'mon. Don't be silly. It's not like I'm a wimp or anything. I don't act like no old lady, and you know that. And Ford, it's not like your precious Dungeon and Dungeons game or whatever it's called is any cooler," he remarked with a forced laugh. With heavy footsteps, he left the room and shut the door behind him.

Ford shrugged. "Touché."

Mabel and Ford were left behind in the room. "I think I hit a nerve there. Should I apologize to him?" she asked.

"He'll forget about it in five minutes anyway. Trust me, he'll get over it."

...

The sun was up, and the Mystery Shack was open for business as Mabel prepared for the next tour. Within the bustling gift shop, Stan sat next to the cash register with crossed arms. Behind the register was Dan Corduroy, staring directly at a nearby attraction with contempt and paying no attention to him. As he sat there, he knew that there was one thing of which he was absolutely sure: he was not getting over anything. He didn't even know why he was so sore about their teasing and laughter, but the feelings lingered nonetheless. What was so different about that particular incident than all the times he'd teased Ford?

Maybe it was because he had a reputation to uphold, he realized. He simply didn't do things like cry over stupid movies on TV. Then, he'd done exactly that and had gotten caught. Perhaps the movie was only the beginning of a slippery slope towards becoming a wimp. He saw a distinct possibility of losing every ounce of tough-guy credibility he ever had if he continued to let his emotions slip. He had prided himself in not crying over anything for eons, only for a movie to ruin his streak. Was he losing his touch? What if he ended up like-

"Disco girl! Coming through! That girl is you!"

The cheesy pop song blared over the Shack's old boom box and interrupted his thoughts. Meanwhile, Grauntie Mabel had stopped what she was doing to stare wistfully into space. Her expression suddenly darkened from its smile until it resembled that of a kicked puppy, quivering lip and all. She wiped a tear from her eye.

"Are you crying over Disco Girl?" Stan asked.

"What? That's a normal reaction. I haven't heard that song in over thirty years! The lyrics just speak to me. That's all. I'm fine. Right as rain!" she said with an exceptionally wide grin. Her chipper mood had returned just as swiftly as it left.

If Stan couldn't appear tough to an old lady who cried over disco music, then who would take him seriously ever again? He needed help. If only there were somebody who could teach him their secrets of how to be a real man, he thought. Then, maybe he could solve the problem.

"So, Dan, what do you think of the new attraction? It's a snake made entirely out of feathers. I call it the Feather Boa. Look, its eyes are bigger than its head," said Mabel in an attempt to change the subject. She widened her own eyes for extra emphasis.

The teen picked up the newest addition to Mabel's collection of projects and gripped it by the neck. While gritting his teeth, he let go of the attraction and slammed his fist against the table with such force that the boa fell off. "It keeps looking at me funny!" he exclaimed with a growl. After his outburst was over, he picked up the thankfully unbroken attraction. It was put back to its proper place, albeit with the eyes facing Mabel and not himself.

In that instant, Stan's eyes lit up. He knew exactly what he was going to do about his situation and said, "Hey, Dan! I have a question for you..."

...

"So, you want to learn the secrets to being a real man? I'm glad you asked. They don't call me Manly Dan for nothing!"

Stan trailed after Dan as they walked through the woods behind the Shack, dodging trees and brambles the whole time. Soon, they appeared in a clearing in the forest. Around the edges of the area, a few trees had been freshly cut down to the stump. Dan pulled a hatchet from one of the tree stumps and expertly twirled it around his fingers. "This is sort of my personal neck of the woods. Literally!" he said. "I come out here when I need to blow off some steam. I mean, Maria will kill me if I break anything in the Shack again."

"What are the secrets to being a real man? Is it like a club or something?"

"I dunno. It just comes naturally to me. Once I punched a tree in half with my bare hands. That old hunk of leaves didn't stand a chance!"

"You broke an entire tree in half? Yeah, and I'm six foot three," replied Stan. Nearby in the clearing, he pointedly ignored the space where a tree had once been that now contained a pile of battered logs and displaced roots, as doing so helped him ignore the gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm not messing with you, I swear. I really did. Here, why don't you try it? Go on, what are you waiting for?"

"Oh yeah? Maybe I will! Can't hurt to try," Stan replied, running to a nearby tree. He readied his stance, clenching his fingers into a tight fist and spreading his feet apart to shoulder width. He bent his knees, aimed at the tree, and struck it with all the force he could muster. His knuckles stung from hitting the rough bark, but he didn't dare mention that out loud. As its trunk was rather thin and wispy, he managed to make the branches sway with the punch. It didn't break, though. There wasn't so much as a crack.

"Not bad for a squirt. Let me show you how it's done," Dan said. "Alright, maybe I never did punch a tree in half. But I can do this!" He then proceeded to rip the tree out of the ground. Beads of sweat rolled down cheeks flushed from the exercise. Roots stuck out from the bottom of the tree, clumps of dirt falling off the ends. Dan let go and it fell to the forest floor. He gasped for breath and wiped his brow, wearing a proud smile.

Stan could only watch on passively. His jaw dropped open. How was he supposed to compete with that? His own punch seemed pitiful in comparison. If only he had been stronger. Maybe he hadn't tried hard enough. Maybe he had tried as hard as he could and it still wouldn't cut it. His idea of training had proven to be a bad one. He plodded to the nearest tree stump and sat down on it. Head downcast, he kicked up clods of dirt with the toe of his sneaker.

"Wanna see it again?" asked Dan.

"No. Can't we just take a break?"

Dan's smirk faltered. He lowered a fist that would've otherwise been aimed at the tree and sat next to the other boy. "All right. But just for a few minutes. Look, I brought beef jerky."

Stan took the piece of jerky tossed his way without so much as a sideways glance. He didn't get to do so much as take a bite before the forest's life was disrupted. A strong wind tossed leaves and branches into the air. Animals such as deer and squirrels stampeded past them, all fleeing from an unseen force.

A hulking creature appeared before them, its looming shadow dwarfing even Dan. Horns, sharp teeth, and a thick coating of fur gave him the features of a bull. He took notice of the people before him and sniffed at the bag of jerky. Stan could smell the breath coming from the animal's snout.

Man and bull-creature were locked in a stare. The packet of jerky slipped out of Dan's hands and fell to the ground. He remained paralyzed, and visibly flinched when the monster lunged at him. Instead of attacking, however, the creature picked up the jerky and shoveled the entire bag down his maw. Dan's jaw dropped open. He jumped from his seat and ran for the woods, leaving the creature behind and with Stan trailing after him.

"Hey, you! Come back here! Got any more of that jerky?" the creature bellowed.

Dan stopped in his tracks without a second's notice, causing Stan to nearly run him down at the speed he was going.

"Nope. We're all out. Hey, are you some kind of bull monster?" Stan asked.

"I'm Chutzpar, and I'm a Manotaur! Half man, half taur!"

"Makes sense to me. Hey, you seem pretty tough, right?"

"Are you kidding? Us Manotaurs are the toughest beings for miles around! Tell me, could a gnome smash a rock with only his head? Could a centaur eat twenty pounds of meat a day? No! Because they're wimps!"

"Yeah!" Stan agreed, pumping his fist into the air.

Dan turned to face Chutzpar and stepped towards him. "Please don't attack us! You don't want to mess with me. I just broke that tree over there like a twig," he said.

"I will not attack you. Probably. I was simply summoned by the smell of jerky. You broke that tree in half, you say?"

"Sure I did."

"You're not using any of that brain stuff where you say things that aren't true, aren't you?"

Dan shook his head no. Meanwhile, Stan piped in, "He really did. But I landed a good hit on it first, if I do say so myself."

Chutzpar turned back to Dan. "Not bad for a human. Who are you, exactly?"

"Uh...Dan Corduroy."

"Well, Dan of the Corduroy line, I'm impressed. How would you like to meet the rest of us in our cave?"

"Well, I guess I could for a few hours," Dan replied, scratching the back of his neck and not quite meeting Chutzpar's steely gaze.

"Can I come, too?" asked Stan. He could use all the help he could get, after all.

Chutzpar briefly looked him up and down before shrugging his shoulders. "Eh, why not? Let's see how this goes. Climb aboard my back hair, children."

As quickly as he could, they scrambled to get aboard the manotaur's back. The hair appeared as if it hadn't been washed in forever, but he dug his fingers into it anyway to keep himself from falling to the ground. Before he knew it, Chutzpar began sprinting through the forest at breakneck speed, his pace not hampered in the slightest by the two people on his back. Stan felt branches clawing at his hair as the forest became a blur around him. Wind whipped at his face as the trees sped by him.

After what felt like no time at all, the forest receded and was replaced by a wall of solid rock that grew closer with every step. Stan forced his eyes open and braced himself for a crash that never came. Chutzpar broke through the wall and into a cave, and then Stan and Dan down from his back once they were safely inside.

Stan peered around the cave, only to find an entire society of Manotaurs, most of which were wrestling each other to the ground or clustered together in packs. "Attention! I have brought with me two humans. They wish to learn our secrets," Chutzpar said, addressing the crowd.

"Who are you, children?" one of them asked.

"I'm Dan, but sometimes my friends call me Manly Dan."

The Manotaurs nodded and grunted to one another in clear approval. "And you?" Stan was asked.

"And I'm...Stan."

"Hm. We must confer with the High Council."

A group of them huddled together. Their whispered argument quickly morphed into screams and flying fists. Only after several Manotaurs had punched each other's faces in did they cease fighting. "The High Council has made a decision," one said, stepping forward from the group. "We will only accept the human known as Manly Dan. We can't argue with a name like that."

"But what did I do wrong? Why won't you train me, too?" asked Stan indignantly.

The Manotaurs chuckled amongst themselves. "With those twig arms? Weak," a voice piped up from within the crowd.

Red-hot heat crept into Stan's cheeks. "What did you just say? I do not have twig arms. They're stronger than they look, and I can prove it. Why don't you guys just shut up about that?"

The outburst momentarily quieted the Manotaurs. Despite knowing he'd gotten himself in over his head again, he refused to wilt under the stares trained on him. They reformed the huddle, murmuring amongst themselves. "Did you, Stan, just tell us to shut up?" said one after turning from the group to face him.

"Yes?"

"If I'm correct, you just told us to shut up despite being a small, defenseless human. I can respect that. You've got spunk, and we see potential. The High Council has re-evaluated their decision. You both may train with us. Just make sure you don't waste our time."

Stan's face lit up. "Yes!" he exclaimed, giving Dan a high-five.

"Let's begin. To the Pain Hole!" Chutzpar yelled, pumping a fist into the air. The Manotaurs charged out of the cave, chanting the name of their destination and jostling into each other.

...

From what Stan saw of the Pain Hole, it truly lived up to its name. When a Manotaur approached it and stuck his hand in, his screams and pained expressions said enough. The others merely stood back reverently and watched the display. "This is your first test you must pass on the path to true manhood!" one said. "Manly Dan, you may go first."

Dan strode to the Pain Hole and put his hand inside without a second thought. His face and body strained, but he did not cry or yell. When he wrenched his hand out and went back to the crowd, the others whooped and cheered to welcome him with open arms.

It was Stan's turn. The pathway between him and the Pain Hole was unblocked except for a few remaining clouds of tan dust. Every step felt endless as he neared his destination. What did the Pain Hole feel like, exactly? Snakes? Spikes? Knives? He hesitated for a moment to delay the inevitable and stared back at the others.

The Manotaurs' attention and praise were still mostly focused on Dan. Some paid no mind to Stan at all. While they had been quiet for Dan's turn, there had been a buzz of chatter among them while he took his own turn. Stan narrowed his eyes. When he passed the test, they'd pay attention to him. He took a deep breath and put his hand into the Pain Hole.

The Manotaurs certainly turned their focus to Stan when he screamed loudly enough to be heard all the way back in New Jersey.

Soon, it was all over. "Did I pass?" Stan asked.

"Yes. Test one of fifty."

Stan audibly groaned.

...

"I have to admit, that time when you wrestled an alligator was impressive!" a Manotaur said to Dan before punching him in the arm.

Dan flinched momentarily before regaining his composure. "It was nothing. Some losers are scared of gators, but gators are scared of me!" he exclaimed, pointing to himself. The others cheered and hit their fists against the surface of the bubbling water.

Stan only sank deeper into the hot stream they rested in. He'd gotten past the river of alligators, too. And the swarm of bees. And the pack of mutant wolves. Maybe he wasn't able to wrestle the alligators to the ground, but he'd passed every test that had been thrown his way and didn't get a fraction of the attention Dan did.

"Uh, guys, it's been real good being here with you. But I have to go!" Dan said.

"Why? We're just about to assign the final test!"

"Oh, yeah. The big test or whatever. I'll be back later. I just have to...use the bathroom!" he explained, pulling himself out of the stream and sprinting into the woods and out of sight.

"Well, that was strange," remarked Chutzpar. "If I didn't know him, I'd think he seemed scared."

"What do you mean? Is this about the final test?" Stan asked. At the mention of the test, the others began to listen to the conversation and draw closer.

"I do not know. I wouldn't want him to miss the test. It's the hardest of all, but once you complete it and stand before our leader, you'll be proven a real man once and for all."

"I bet I could do it. No sweat. What are we waiting for? Once Dan comes back, let's just go."

"I like your anticipation. Your friend can't be long now. It's almost time. Are you ready?"

"You bet I am."


	6. Stan the Man, Part 2

"Ugh, how long has it been? Manly Dan might be impressive for a human, but I'm sick of waiting," a Manotaur from the crowd asked.

"Over an hour," Stan said with a sigh.

"I'm bored. Manly Dan will catch up eventually. Let's just go back to the Man Cave."

"To the Man Cave! To Leaderaur!" others shouted.

The hot spring was quickly abandoned as the others leapt out of the water and stampeded towards the cave. Stan was the only one that did so much as to glance back at the woods one last time.

...

Torches burned bright, the shadows of their light flickering off the walls of the Man Cave. Every eye was on Stan as Manotaurs cleared a path for him. At the other end of the path stood a weak, frail creature. Gray whiskers were on his beard, and he had a hunch to his back. His body was shaking, and he fearfully whimpered to himself.

"That's the leader of the Manotaurs? He can't be," Stan asked incredulously.

"Nah, he's just the sacrifice."

No sooner were those words said when the Manotaur in front of him was devoured in the jaws of something much larger. Stan looked up to see a hulking creature that towered over everyone else in the cave. "So, you wish to prove your manliness?" Leaderaur said.

"Yes. I am."

"I have one task for you. Go to the top of the highest mountain and bring me the head of our sworn enemy, the Multi-Bear!" the leader bellowed. The crowd jeered and hollered at the mere mention of the name. Leaderaur grunted in pain as he pulled a spear from his body and dropped it at Stan's feet.

Without a moment's hesitation, Stan picked up the spear. "No problem. I'll do it. I'll kill this bear. It'll be easy," he said. And I'll find Dan too, he added silently to himself.

As the Manotaurs chanted his name, he realized he'd never had so much attention fixated on him in his life. He embraced the spotlight like it was second nature, basking in its glow.

...

Stan's second goal was accomplished with much more ease than expected. The Man Cave wasn't even out of sight when he spotted a flash of red hair from behind a bush. Ducking off the path to investigate, he found none other than Dan. The older boy was hiding in the foliage, head resting on his knees. "Dan! What are you doing? We've been waiting for you forever!"

"Shh! They might find us. I barely managed to get away the first time," he replied.

"Who's 'they?' The Manotaurs? But why are you hiding from them? Those guys aren't bad."

"They...never mind. It's stupid."

"What?"

"Oh, well. I'm hidin' in a darn bush, I might as well tell you. Listen, you don't repeat this to anyone. Got it? You better have. The Manotaurs scare the crap outta me. Always have, ever since I was a little kid and heard scary stories about the monsters in the woods. Never thought they'd be real."

"You? Scared?" Stan asked, a laugh playing on the corners of his mouth. Dan's glare was enough to stifle it. "But you did all that stuff to impress them!"

"I only did that 'cause I expected them to eat me if I failed or something."

"They won't eat ya. Come on, they just sent me on this test to kill the Multi-Bear! They'll be super impressed if we do that."

"I can't! Go on by yourself. I don't want them to find me. They're going in and out of that cave all the time. I can't move or they'll know I'm here. I don't want them to tell me how I just screwed up at everything."

"Why don't you just leave, then? You got this far."

"What if they see me? They'll just drag me back into the cave. If they don't call me out for screwing up, then they'll still think I want to hang out with them. I'll have to keep pretending. And I can't tell them what I really think. I'll never hear the end of it. There's no escape."

Stan's face darkened into a more serious expression. "Fine. I'll come back and get you. Right after I kill this Multi-Bear. I need to do that first," he said.

"You know where I'll be," replied Dan as Stan continued on his path to the mountain.

...

The cave was damp and chilly, with dark stalactites forming jagged shadows across the walls. Shallow pools of water seeped into his sneakers. A mountain breeze left goosebumps along Stan's arms. Entering the cave was a relief to him, as he wasn't constantly confronted with how high up in the mountains he was. During the climb, he was seized with panic whenever he looked down and saw how far off the ground he was. He wondered why the Multi-Bear couldn't have lived in a swamp or something. It was a miracle he'd made it to the top at all, as he did not do heights. At least while in the cave, he was able to pretend he wasn't on high ground at all. He focused in on end of the Multi-Bear's lair, searching for his target.

"Hello?" he asked, voice echoing across the gray, drab rocks. "I'm looking for the Multi-Bear!"

A dark shadow appeared at the other end of the cavern. At first, it was in the shape of an indiscernible blob. As it grew closer, its true form became clear. It was that of a towering bear with matted fur and several heads, one of which snarled to reveal a set of sharpened teeth. "What do you want with me? I'd suggest you leave my home, child," he said.

Stan refused to let the fear show on his face, pushing it down to his feet. It was nothing more than another boxing match, he told himself. Heck, the Multi-Bear was probably nicer than half the guys in his boxing class. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest to make himself appear bigger than he actually was. Brandishing the spear, he looked the bear in the eyes, or at least the eyes of his uppermost head. "The Manotaurs sent me here on a mission to bring back your head, and I'm gonna finish it!" he exclaimed.

The Multi-Bear let out a low chuckle that quickly became a growl. "Of course they did. Tell them I'm not going out that easily."

Without another word, Stan charged head-on with a battle cry and pointed the spear in the bear's direction. His attack was quickly halted when the bear lifted a massive paw and swatted him away like a mere fly. With that, the fight was officially on. Stan was pushed to the ground, but came forward again and continued to aim for the bear with the spear. At one point, he attempted using his fists to pummel the bear's body as well when he'd run completely out of other options. Even on the rare chance when he was able to land a hit, it had no effect on the Multi-Bear.

The bear took the offensive stance and swiped at Stan with his paws. His many jaws roared and snapped at him whenever he got too close. Stan deflected the blows, holding the spear in front of his body for protection from the razor-sharp claws slashing at him. As the Multi-Bear advanced, Stan stepped backwards. He knew he couldn't keep up with what he'd been doing for much longer. The direct approach wouldn't work, as that had only gotten him cornered against the cave wall.

He looked around the walls to see the jagged stumps of rocks lining the cavern. At the sight of them, he had an idea. He darted sideways as fast as his legs could take him to get away from the bear. Then, he scrambled to climb upon the nearest ledge of rock that was sturdy enough to stand on. He picked up a rock from the ledge, lifted it over his head, and threw it at the bear below. The Multi-Bear dodged it with ease and moved toward the ledge. Stan knew he would attempt to climb it and continued to pelt rocks at the bear. His plan was only partly successful, as the bear remained unhurt but slowed down and didn't climb the ledge.

Stan paused for a moment and wiped his brow. A fair amount of his energy had been drained from him. As a last resort, he drew his spear and jumped off the ledge to land on the Multi-Bear's back. He pulled the spear around the bear's neck, causing his legs to give out and for both to crash to the cave floor. Stan wasted no time in getting up while the bear was still lying down and pointed the spear at his neck. "Heh. Looks like I got you," he said.

The bear let out a resigned sigh. "Very well; I accept my fate. Will you be willing to grant a magical being one last wish?"

"Um, I guess?"

"Will you let me die listening to my favorite song? It's right in that tape player over there."

Stan walked to the nearby machine, spear still readied at his side. He did as he was told, placing the cassette into its slot and hitting the play button. The opening strains of "Disco Girl" began to play over the speakers. "No way. You listen to that disco stuff?" he asked.

"Yes. Have you heard of it?"

"Nope. Never have in my life. Not at all," Stan lied. "I guess I'm going to...kill you now? I almost feel like I don't want to anymore, but I have to."

"Why do something you don't want to do?"

"Because I have to show them that I'm strong! I can't let them think I'm some weak little kid."

"So you want to prove your worth. A noble quest. I have to wonder why a child of your age would want that, though."

Stan crossed his arms. He couldn't believe that he was about to sit around with a giant bear and talk about his feelings. Nonetheless, the emotions that he hadn't dared to express previously came out in the open. "It's because I used to be a wimp!" he exclaimed. "I used to get pushed around by everyone back home. Couldn't stand up for myself if my life depended on it. I even wore nerdy glasses all the time like my brother. But then I toughened up. I learned how to defend myself, and how to throw a good punch. I stopped wearing my glasses, too. I haven't been able to see right in two years, but it was worth it. Someone has to keep my brother from getting beat up at school, after all. You know, that's why I did all this. I had to prove to the Manotaurs that I'm not gonna go back to being weak!"

"You know, all the Manotaurs used to make fun of me for liking Disco Girl."

"Really? Believe me, I get it. Just today I got made fun of by an actual old lady for watching old-lady movies. Then, I tried to get this other guy to help with that and he one-upped me at everything," Stan explained. "But why would they do that to you? You're a giant bear! You're, like, the opposite of weak."

The bear didn't respond. Stan sighed, staring at the spear in his hand. The image of him returning victoriously with the Multi-Bear's head to thunderous applause didn't seem as sweet as it once had. A creature of such enormous power and strength had shared a similar experience to him. He loosened his grasp on the spear and it clattered to the ground. "I won't do it. Who cares what everyone else says? Maybe I do like watching those old-lady black-and white movies sometimes. It's not like it'll make me a wimp again. I bet I could still beat everyone's lights out," he said.

Despite his newfound burst of confidence, a lingering problem remained. How was he going to escape with Dan? If only he could distract the Manotaurs long enough to make an escape. He wasn't out of the woods quite yet, as he had no idea how well his failure to complete the mission would go over, even if they didn't eat him. It was strange knowing that on the same morning, he had been sitting on the couch and watching a lord in a movie put one invitation to a dance in a roomful of people to cause chaos. The memory planted the seed of a plan on how to distract the Man Cave's inhabitants long enough to escape with Dan. If the fake cotillion invitation could set off chaos, what would a similar lie do to the Manotaurs?

The tape had finished its song by then. "Can I borrow this?" Stan asked, picking up the boom box.

"After sparing my life, I will grant you this favor."

"Sweet. I'll give it back! Maybe!" he replied, sprinting out of the cave and back into the crisp mountain air. Before he began his trek down the mountain, he turned to look back at the Multi-Bear one last time. He didn't have much luck in spotting him. The bear had already descended to the depths of his cave where no light reached. Leaving the bear to his own devices, he hefted the boom box over his shoulder and started the downhill walk back to the Man Cave. If he fixated on the path directly ahead of him and didn't look down, maybe he would be able to get to the mountain's base without much panicking.

...

Stan entered the cave through one of the many suspiciously Manotaur-shaped holes in the wall. Back pressed against the rocks, he carefully avoided being spotted by anybody. He placed the boom box behind a nearby stone before proceeding towards the leader's throne.

"You're back. Did you succeed in your mission or not? I don't see the head of the Multi-Bear," bellowed Leaderaur when Stan stepped into view. The other Manotaurs stared expectantly at him, and some were murmuring disappointedly to one another.

"About that...not exactly. He's actually a pretty good guy. But I did find something better," Stan replied.

"This is a waste of time. If you don't have what it takes, just leave now!"

Stan charged forward with his plan anyway. "I found this in the cave. I sure wonder whose it is," he said, pulling out the jukebox and pressing the play button. As soon as "Disco Girl" began to play, several Manotaurs covered their ears.

"Who dares to bring that song into our sacred cave? I bet it was Beardy!" someone yelled out from the crowd.

"Why don't you say that to my face? Maybe you're the one who put it there and don't want to admit it!" Beardy replied.

"He might be trying to trick us, you know."

"I bet you're just saying that because it was you who did it!"

The crowd cleared the way for the two combatants. One punched another in the face. Before long, they were on the ground wrestling. Others took sides in the argument or accused each other of owning the boom box. Soon, the situation descended into an all-out brawl. By the time the ping-pong table had been smashed against a wall, Stan had taken the boom box and silently made his exit.

...

"I think we lost 'em," said Stan as he ran through the forest, face drenched in sweat. "Heck, I don't think they even followed us. Probably still fighting over the cassette tape. I can't believe that worked."

"I thought you were going to fight the Multi-Bear, whatever that meant. What happened?" asked Dan as he slowed to a walk.

"I was going to. I backed out at the last second. Guess you could say I chickened out, but it doesn't feel too bad. Those Manotaur guys were jerks anyway. And I still think I could take them in a fight any day."

"Maybe if you keep hanging out with me, you will."

When the Mystery Shack's silhouette became visible through the trees, they parted ways at the point where Dan had to return home. After one last high-five, Stan returned to the Shack. Even though Ford and Grauntie Mabel were nearby and could possibly hear him, he knew what he had to do.

He plodded to the living room and kicked back into the recliner. The stress of the day melted away as he leaned back in the chair. Reaching for the remote, he flipped back through the channels to the one he'd been watching the night before. After all, the Black and White Period Piece Old Lady Boring Movie Channel was underrated.

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	7. Lost Lagoon, Part 1

With a bright, red marker, Ford crossed out the previous day's box on the calendar. The square for the next day, June 15, was circled to emphasize its monumental importance. There were only fifteen hours before the next day began, which would undoubtedly stretch on for an eternity.

Meanwhile, Stan did not bask in the anticipation, as he was tucked away in a pile of unpacked duffel bags on his side of the room. He rifled through them, tossing their contents every which way. "Have you seen my sock anywhere? I lost one."

Ford sighed. "Where was the last place you saw it?"

"If I remembered that, would I be asking you?"

"Does it matter? The big news right now is our birthdays tomorrow! We'll be real, official teenagers," said Ford. He couldn't wait for midnight of their birthday to strike, and planned to stay up to watch the clock count down the final minutes. "This is huge. It's like the beginning of the rest of your life! Things are going to change. People will finally start taking us seriously. Maybe we'll even get taller!"

"I know, but did you ever think about how this is pretty much our last day to be a kid? That has to count for something. We've gotta do something big to remember today by," replied Stan.

"I know! What about the one thing we've always wanted to do?"

"Look for treasure!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Do you think we really could do it?" Stan wondered aloud.

Ford picked up the journal and began flipping through the pages. "After the things we've seen here? This is the one place it might actually be possible."

He continued to scan the journal's pages. With everything described in there, it would be a surprise if there wasn't a secret treasure map somewhere. True to his suspicions, he discovered a possible option in the early pages and stopped on that selection.

"I found something," said Ford. He read the journal page out loud. "The Lost Lagoon. True to its name, I happened upon it while lost in the river that runs through the woods. Well, I found the sign, at least. It told of the greatest lost treasures being held in there for anyone who dared continue, but only people who were just as lost as the things inside could see it. It's a shame I was never able to discover it. Beyond the sign, I couldn't see anything but the rest of the river. I found my way back home eventually. I still don't understand why the lagoon was never made visible to me even though I was having difficulty getting home from the woods, however. Consider this unexplained."

"That's it?"

"That's all that's written here."

"Well, now that you mentioned it, we have to go check it out. It said all the lost treasures in the world were in there. Think about it, Ford. It'll be the best birthday present ever. Even if it is from ourselves."

Ford laid a finger on his chin, deep in thought. "I wonder what caused this to exist at all. Maybe if we wander around long enough, we'll get to research it."

"Who cares about the research? It's treasure."

"I do! Not even the author was able to see this place, and I want to add to his findings." Ford snapped the journal shut. "Since we're so new to town, maybe we'd have an easier time finding it."

"I can't believe we're actually going to do this," said Stan, whose smile went from ear to ear.

"I know! Let's get started," Ford replied, voice rising in volume. "Wait, where are we going to get a boat?"

Stan shrugged and said, "I didn't think that far ahead."

"Well, we might as well ask Grauntie Mabel," Ford replied before yelling down the steps. "Grauntie Mabel! You wouldn't happen to have a boat anywhere, would you?"

...

"So, I heard someone's birthdays are tomorrow," said Mabel as she led them around the Shack's back hallways.

"How'd you know that?" Stan asked.

"Oh, I have my ways. Are you doing anything for it?"

"I dunno. Probably when we get back to Jersey."

"Back in my day, I used to have the best parties. I'd have all my friends over and we'd be up all night! Too bad I haven't seen them much lately. I bet you miss your friends back home too, boys."

"Right," said Ford, gritting his teeth into a smile. Luckily, Mabel had reached her destination of a nondescript door ringed by cobwebs, effectively ending the conversation.

She swung the door open to reveal a storage room of sorts. "Whew! Nobody's been in here since forever. You can look through that stuff if you want. I think I remember there being a little canoe around here somewhere."

"Whoa, these dust bunnies are the size of my head!" Stan piped up.

The room was small and cramped, and it overflowed with forgotten things in every corner. Ford scanned the room, while Stan began to paw through boxes. After some time, their search proved to be successful when Ford spotted the corner of a tiny, wooden fishing boat sticking out from under a pile of cardboard boxes. "Stan, come look. I found something."

He dropped the box he was searching for and ran to the boat. "Now we're talking," he said, nodding in approval.

"What are we going to call this thing?" Ford asked as he pulled the boat out from under boxes of various knickknacks and cleared away the cobwebs clinging to everything. "I mean, it has to have a name. No self-respecting treasure hunter sets sail with a nameless boat."

"I vote we go with the Stan O' War again. We're getting as much mileage of that name out as possible."

"What's the Stan O' War?" asked Mabel.

Stan hung back and sized up Mabel, eyes flitting back and forth. "It's a boat. Our boat," he replied.

Stan showed no sign of explaining further, so Ford continued, "Last summer, we found this old, abandoned ship in a cave. We're gonna fix it up someday and sail around the world looking for treasure. Today is just the practice run."

"Well, that sure sounds potentially dangerous! Oh well. What's life without a little excitement? Have fun! Make sure to take a weapon. My grappling hook is on the wall. Use it wisely."

"Will do!"

"By the way, I agree on the name," Ford told Stan. "Wait a minute, wouldn't the name have a "II" after it since there's already a Stan O' War?"

"But the original isn't finished yet," Stan replied. "We haven't even taken her on the water yet. That boat should be the second one."

"But it was still the first one! There must be rules about this somewhere. I know! Since it's such an unusual situation, I have an idea."

When Ford shared the new idea for a name, Stan replied with, "It's perfect! Why didn't I think of that before?"

Thus, the newly named Stan O' War 1.5 was officially ready to go.

...

Soon after leaving the Shack, the boat had been taken out into the woods. After setting off into the river, they had taken every twist and turn possible to get as sufficiently lost as they could.

Ford skimmed through the Journal's pages and listened to the rhythm of oars slicing through the water, which came from Stan rowing the boat. He looked up from the book to see tree branches waving gently over him in the wind. He stuck a hand into the river to feel cool water slipping through his fingers. He was out living one of his dreams. By all accounts, he should be happy. Instead, the forest only felt hollow. The trees dwarfed him in size and there was nobody else in sight except for them. It was too quiet. At least when something had been trying to chase them down, there had been some excitement.

His thoughts drifted away from the treasure, the boat, or the tiny Oregon town to wonder about his hometown on the other side of the country. Did anybody in New Jersey even notice they were gone? Their parents would, but the few others who'd be considered friends probably never remembered their names. He'd talked to people in school sometimes, but most of them wanted to copy off his homework more than anything else. He hoped everything would change for the better once they were teens, but what if they didn't? He was still the same person, after all.

He had told himself that he'd be more open to new people in Gravity Falls, but what if they didn't want that? What if he was wandering and lost with few people even noticing?

Ford had his parents and Stan. For a time, he believed that they were enough and accepted that. At least, he thought he had. However, it still stung knowing he most likely wouldn't be getting any calls from friends on as important a day as his birthday. He expertly brushed it aside. Oh, well. He'd deal with that. Nobody else back home got to go hunting for treasure. He pulled his hand out of the water and sat up in the boat.

"Hey, Mr. Smart Guy, you have any idea where this treasure actually is, or are we just floating around?" Stan asked as they proceeded forward.

"The author didn't leave a map, but I have an idea. If we just get lost enough, we should find it eventually. You have to be patient."

"There has to be a treasure map here somewhere. All the movies have one."

"I looked through the entire journal. There isn't one. The author never made it this far. If there is one, which I'm not sure of, it might be near here instead."

"Wait. Never mind, I found something!" Stan exclaimed.

The expanse of river in front of it was covered with thick, white clouds of fog that obscured the area completely. Ford swore it hadn't been there a minute ago. A wooden sign had been haphazardly planted into the riverbank just before the first tendrils of fog would've reached it.

"You are now entering the Lost Lagoon. The greatest treasures man thought to be gone forever will appear here if you continue, but one must be as lost as the things inside to enter," Ford read out loud from the sign.

Tied directly underneath the sign with a bright gold ribbon, something glittered against the mud of the riverbank. When they were close enough to see it, he recognized that it was a glass bottle with a piece of paper inside. It was pristine, free from any sign of weathering or aging. He reached out and pulled it from under the sign, causing the boat to sway slightly. "It's a message in a bottle," Ford explained.

"Well, don't just sit there all day. Open it! Open it!" Stan chanted.

Ford pulled the cork off the top and retrieved the paper. He unrolled it to reveal a map of the entire Lagoon. It was intricately drawn and showed several paths that all lead to a large X in the center. The map, like the bottle it was found in, looked as new and clean as if it had been written yesterday, with not a spot of dirt or water damage to be found. He couldn't believe his luck to have found what they were looking for so easily.

Stan's jaw dropped at the sight of it. "This is way better than that time we found a dead fish chopped up on the beach."

As he studied the map, Ford had to agree.

'Welcome to the Lost Lagoon. If you follow this map carefully, you'll be on your way to finding every treasure that's been lost to mankind throughout history.'

The message was inscribed on the corner of the map in ink. "Interesting," Ford said as they pored over the map. "I wonder who wrote this."

'Consider this some help from a guide.' The previous message was erased and replaced with the current one, as if an invisible hand was writing it.

"What the-It changed? Didja see that?"

"It's right in front of my eyes, Stan. Also, it's probably enchanted somehow."

"Well, where does it say to go?"

"On the map, it looks like if we take two lefts once we get in there, and then a right at the next splits in the path, we'll be getting closer to the treasure. This place doesn't seem too big, actually," explained Ford as he studied the parchment. "This part of the map is circled, but I'm not sure why."

"So, the map...talks? Or writes or whatever? Is it bad that I'm starting to expect this stuff? Anyway, there's one way to find out what this thing means," said Stan. "I mean, we found it, after all. We're really here." He wasted no time in propelling the boat directly into the fog.


	8. Lost Lagoon, Part 2

For a moment, Ford saw nothing but white. He couldn't spot his own hand in front of him, let alone anything beyond the boat. As the boat continued to drift along the river, that changed. The fog began to recede to reveal what was on the other side.

The lagoon was a far cry from the often-turbulent waves and crashing foam of the ocean near Glass Shard Beach. It was entirely still save for the gentle ripples coming from the boat. The water was languid and glassy, and the air was so humid it could've stuck to their skin. Wisps of fog lazily drifted off the water's surface, and white clouds of it blocked the view of everything beyond the area directly ahead of the boat. Not even the sky was visible. Ford glanced behind him, but saw nothing but fog as far as the eye could see.

As Stan rowed the boat forward, he took notice of strange, ghostly shapes in the water ahead of them. At first, it was impossible to tell what they were. When the boat drew closer to them, they turned out to be towering piles of miscellaneous objects rising from the lagoon's bottom, most of which were in various states of rust and decay. The piles rose in walls on either side of the boat, making a path of water down the middle. Broken, ancient televisions, out-of-style clothes, metal pipes, and countless more items were packed into the piles. As the boat continued deeper into the lagoon, other objects floated in the water alongside it, including more than a few soggy homework assignments.

"This is fascinating; I have to write all of this down. It's just like the journal said! All these things that ended up here must've been lost at some point by people from Gravity Falls," mused Ford while pulling a pen from his jacket pocket. He began to furiously scribble notes into the journal. "I wonder how all these things were collected into such a small area. Do they vanish into some sort of pocket dimension? Is some higher force controlling where everything goes? How does all this appear here?"

"I dunno, but my sock just appeared here," said Stan, leaning over the boat's edge to retrieve the sock that had been floating on the water's surface. A grin appeared on his face as he threw the wet sock at Ford's face.

The sock hit its target and Ford instantly looked up from the journal when he felt it. His nose wrinkled in disgust as peeled it off his face and threw it back at Stan, who caught it easily before it could hit him.

As the boat rounded another corner, Ford peered at the map to realize that they were at the area circled on the paper. Once they had progressed further into the lagoon, the water had gone from still to moving at a much faster pace with an added current pulling the boat towards what was presumably the center.

He turned around to see that the boat's path forward was completely blocked by a wall of junk. Stan rowed the boat closer in order for them to inspect it. The top of the wall was rendered invisible by the fog, making the barrier appear to stretch on forever. By noticing how the wall didn't stop when the water began, Ford confirmed to himself that it continued below the surface and couldn't be swum under.

"This is just great. How are we gonna get past this?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ford saw map's message shift once again. He picked it up to see that it now read, 'I will inform you that there may be a test along the way before you reach the treasure. In this one, the objective is to find the key. If you pull the right items out of the blockade, you'll find a box with the key inside. However, if you knock the wall down or run out of time, a trap will be activated and you will fail.'

"Sounds easy enough," said Ford as he surveyed the pile of junk. Its multitude of components included objects like chairs, expensive-looking glass plates with cracks spreading across their surfaces, other furniture, and much more. They were precariously balanced on top of each other. If he was to remove the wrong thing, the whole wall would come down in a spectacular crash.

Just as he wondered what the map meant by "running out of time," he looked up to find the answer. An hourglass hung over their heads by an unseen rope, only partially obscured by the fog.

The hourglass spun, seemingly by itself, in a circle, causing the sand to begin falling. The clock had begun. Ford didn't know what would happen if it ran out, but he didn't especially want to. He turned his attention to the wall again. In his scan of it, he saw a rusted bird cage at the very bottom of the heap. Inside was an ornately decorated red box. "The key is in here, I think," he said. Finding it was the easy part, however. Getting it out would no doubt prove more difficult.

"So what, we have to get it out? Why don't we just knock everything off the top until we can grab it?"

Ford glanced up at the towering pile whose top stretched upwards into the fog. "I don't think we can reach that high," he replied. "I can pull things out from the bottom. There's a strategy to this."

Examining the objects, he noted which ones were integral to the structure and which ones could be pulled out. He made his first choice and took a cracked mirror out of the pile, which was then thrown in the water. The structure held steady, and the box inside became more visible.

"Hurry up, we don't got forever," Stan said.

"I'm working on it." Ford pulled what looked like a phonograph from the pile. The blockade wobbled, but had the courtesy not to collapse. Meanwhile, the hourglass neared its halfway point on the timer. "Just one more thing."

If he took out the broken half of a coffee table standing in the way, he'd be able to reach in and grab the key. Ford tried to pull it out on his own, but the structure shook dangerously from having an integral piece of its foundation removed. "It's not going to hold on its own. Stan, keep the pile steady while I get the table out," he said.

"We're gonna run out of time!" he exclaimed. Most of the hourglass's sand had fallen into the bottom half.

"We'll have to be quick, then," Ford replied. When Stan pressed his hands against the blockade, Ford used every bit of his strength to pull the final piece out. He pulled open the door of the rusted birdcage that had become infinitely more accessible and retrieved the box inside. It was a good thing he'd been wearing gloves or else he'd be in need of a tetanus shot.

He pried open the box to reveal a shining golden key. Placing it in the palm of his hand, he almost felt as if it was but an apparition soon to disappear.

He looked up at the hourglass to see how much time would've been left, but held his breath when he caught sight of it. He was momentarily frozen as he saw the last grains of sand fall from the hourglass. Had they failed? Would some trap emerge from nowhere and enclose them?

Nothing of the sort happened. Instead, the blockade split down the middle apparently of its own accord with a groan and a rumble. The two halves opened like a gate to reveal the next part of the hunt. Apparently they had made it in time. When the formerly still water gained a current, the tiny fishing boat was swept along further into the river. The piles of junk had grown larger the further in they got, and the path grew narrower. Ford consulted the map again.

Its message changed once more, this time to "I wish you luck on the final stretch before discovering the treasure. You will need it." The treasure wasn't far away, according to the map. The spot marked with an X seemed to be straight ahead of them.

"Look ahead!" he shouted. Ford directed his attention to another cloud of fog nearing the boat. The path of water seemingly dropped off right in front of them.

When the path came to an apparent end, the boat flung itself over what was apparently a waterfall. The stream was now a roaring, loud, force of nature that drowned out everything it encountered. Ford could barely make out the sound of screaming, despite the fact that it was coming from him. His stomach dropped, just like the times when he rode the roller coasters on the boardwalk, and he clung to the side of the boat as hard as he could.

The experience was over as soon as it began. With a spray of foam, the boat landed on steadier waters. Ford looked back to see that the waterfall was much smaller in height than he originally thought. The boat was surrounded by the usual piles of junk that reached far into the sky. There was nothing more between them and a treasure chest on a raised platform but an expanse of water, which was crossed in no time.

When the boat reached its destination, both were momentarily stunned to silence. Ford double-checked the map. Sure enough, the X was marked in the same spot where they currently sat. "I'll do the honors," he said, pulling out the key and matching it to its keyhole in the chest. It was a perfect fit. The key turned, and a click was heard. He pushed the lid off the top of the chest to see what was inside.

Nothing.

The chest was empty.

"The heck is this? We go all this way for nothing?" exclaimed Stan, slamming a hand down on the boat.

"This can't be right. Let me check the map again," Ford replied, reaching for the parchment paper. When he caught sight of it, he startled and dropped it to the ground. Most of the map had become obscured with black ink stains running freely across its surface that had bled onto his hands. The water beneath them began to ripple, and a faraway rumbling sound made itself apparent. A whirlpool began to swirl around the chest. It was slow at first, but picked up in speed and intensity so quickly that Ford wondered if they'd be able to escape in time. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I don't know! But we have to get outta here right now!" Stan exclaimed in reply.

"Wait! I have to find what all this means!"

He was ignored as Stan paddled the boat forward with all the strength he had. Ford begrudgingly accepted the current plan of action and stuck the journal and pen inside his jacket for safekeeping. The boat lurched forward, away from the chest. Clinging to the boat's side, he looked ahead. The waterfalls surrounded the chest's hiding place on every side, making escape impossible. There was no way to row it upwards. The spots in the wall where no water flowed had barricaded themselves in the time when they were rowing towards the treasure. The back end of the boat began to tip downwards and slide towards the center of the whirlpool once again.

Ford grabbed the map once again and buried his nose in it. Perhaps whatever magic or anomaly that had led to the map being able to write its own messages would help them. "How do we get out of here?" he asked.

The ink stains on the map shifted to form dark, bold letters that marred the entire surface. It only read, 'Sorry, but there is no escape.'

Ford racked his brains for an explanation, almost dropping the map again in the process. Something was controlling the entire lagoon, from the messages on the map to the obstacles that had clearly been set up beforehand. He should have realized it sooner. "Wait a minute. What are you? Why are you doing this?"

The letters shifted again.'You humans may call me a spirit, as I have no physical form. I control this lagoon and everything in it. I get stronger by collecting lost things. One day, the energy they provided me with wasn't enough. So I moved on to people. All I did was set up promises of treasure, put a little test in the way to keep them from thinking it's too easy, and let them come to me. Human souls physically or mentally lost in this huge old world fall into the perfect trap made of my possessions like you wouldn't believe.'

"Why are you telling me all this?"

'You asked, did you not?'

Ford flinched at the sound of Stan yelling. He looked up to see that the whirlpool's current had become overwhelming. The map now read, 'You are making this difficult. Please stop resisting.'

"No! Stan, this whole place is a trap! A spirit's controlling this place and I think it wants...our souls? Maybe? Yeah, I think it was souls," Ford said, showing Stan the map.

The map's letters changed again to read, 'Very well. I will have to deal with this the difficult way.'

On the nearest wall, the miscellaneous objects began to fall from their position. All around them, they were rearranging into a giant hand made entirely of the things from the lagoon. It glided across the water until it was directly over the boat. The hand's palm split and opened into what resembled a gaping mouth, complete with sharp teeth made of rusting, metal pipes. It began to close down on them. Stan tried to row away from it, but did little more than buy them a few extra seconds. Ford had to think fast. He frantically glanced around at the boat to see what he had to work with. The map? Absolutely not. Grauntie Mabel's grappling hook? Absolutely.

Stan met his eye and took notice of the grappling hook, nodding slightly to show that he understood what was about to happen. Ford fired the hook at the nearest wall of junk. Luckily, the claw wrapped around a pole. He grabbed Stan by the shoulder and held onto the hook for dear life as they were pulled from the boat. Before he knew it, they'd crashed on top of the wall. They sprang to their feet and began sprinting.

Ford took one glance back at the whirlpool's center. The hand had smashed down onto the boat, and both things were sucked into whatever the vortex of water led into. He turned and focused on running. The spirit must have known they'd escaped, as the wall of junk began to crumble under their feet. "This might be obvious, but we have to get out of here!" he exclaimed.

"And how are we gonna do that?"

"The spirit said it only takes lost people. We just have to find our way out."

"I don't know how. And neither do you."

Ford's breaths grew heavy, and he sorely wished that he'd tried harder in gym class. He looked down at the grappling hook still clenched in his hand. "I wonder if Grauntie Mabel will notice we're gone by now," he said.

"She'll have to notice sometime, I guess. Our parents are gonna want to know why we didn't show up in Jersey in fall."

Just that morning, they'd been at the Shack. It wasn't perfect, but at least it was familiar and safe from the danger of the woods. Grauntie Mabel truly would miss them on some level, even if they didn't know each other very well. They had to make it back, if only so they could start their thirteenth year off on a high note. Maybe Dan or Maria would notice there were fewer people in the Shack than the previous day, or perhaps Fiddleford would wonder where they'd gone off to. He imagined himself returning there to settle down for the night and get ready for their birthdays.

They ran with the same speed as before, but their surroundings had faded into a white blur. "I can't see anything," Stan said as he continued into the increasingly thicker fog. "Where are you?"

"I'm right in front of you," he replied. The mist had begun to clear, and he saw the faintest outline of trees and sky. "Do you see this? I think we might be almost out!"

"No! I can't!" replied Stan. His voice seemed close, but Ford couldn't catch sight of him when he turned around.

The outlines of the trees grew clearer. What had he been doing when he first saw them again? He took a guess. "Stan, think about something! It could be Mabel, the Shack, me, anything that's not here!"

"Why?"

"Just try!" he said. After a silent pause where he couldn't be heard or seen, Stan emerged from the fog and became visible to his brother.

Beneath his wet sneakers, the ground slowly changed from the lost objects to that of wet, soggy earth. The mist cleared and they found themselves on the riverbank just at the Lagoon's entrance. The sign was still there, just as they'd left it. Ford slowed and stopped to look behind him. The fog had disappeared, as did the lagoon entrance and any trace of the angry spirit. There was nothing ahead except a completely ordinary river. "It's...all gone," Stan said.

"But we made it."

"Yeah. Too bad there was no treasure, though. And we lost the boat. And we still have to find our way back to the Shack. Actually, this kinda sucks."

Ford sighed. "I don't even know how we got out. We weren't even close to the entrance. All of it just...went away. I guess we have to start walking back, though."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Sounds fun."

As they started the long, meandering walk out of the woods, Ford still wondered what had led them to leave the Lagoon all of a sudden. All he'd been doing was thinking about the Shack. Perhaps that place and its people had been so much more familiar in comparison to the woods.

...

An unseen person tapped on Ford's door softly. Throwing the sheets off his bed, he rubbed at his eyes and wondered what was going on. The day had thoroughly exhausted him, but sleep could wait in order to figure out what Grauntie Mabel would possibly want at this hour.

He opened the door to see his great-aunt standing in front of him, wearing a grin on her face. "Go wake up your brother," she loudly whispered.

He shook his head in confusion and roused Stan from sleep. "Wait, why?"

"I told you I could throw a party, right? Well, this was what I could do on short notice."

Ford stared up at her in disbelief. Stan joined him shortly thereafter, waking up and trudging to the door just in time for Mabel to pull out a party horn and blow on it. While Stan flinched at the noise, Ford asked, "Is whatever this is...for us?"

"Everyone deserves to have something special on their birthdays! Especially family, you know. What kind of heartless monster would I be if I left you guys alone for this? Now come on, it's almost midnight. Hurry up and go downstairs!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Ford's eyes felt less heavy as himself and Stan bounded down the creaking and groaning staircase leading to the Shack's ground floor.

He entered the kitchen just in time for the clock to switch from 11:59 to 12:00. Officially, he was a teenager now. Well, technically, he wouldn't be for a few more hours, as they weren't born exactly at midnight, but it was close enough. Mabel flipped a switch on the wall to turn on the lights. The twins sat down at what they'd claimed as their spots at the table as their great-aunt brought out a small cake with candles stuck in the frosting.

As he watched the scene before him with disbelief, it occurred that perhaps he should tell Mabel about the boat that had gotten trashed in the lagoon. It could wait, he decided. Their great-aunt had begun to sing "Happy Birthday." The song was out of tune, and Stan had already taken the opportunity to swipe frosting off the cake. There were fingerprints in it by the time the song was through. Despite that, Ford found himself smiling nonetheless.

It was pitch black outside the building. The Shack, however, was filled with noise, laughter, and the warm, golden light coming from the kitchen.

 **PDBEH WKH UHDO WUHDVXUH ZDV WKH SURSHUWB WKDW JRW GHVWURBHG DORQJ WKH ZDB**


	9. For Want of a Journal, Part 1

Behind the Mystery Shack, the usually empty lot burst with sound and color. The smell of popcorn wafted through the air, and multicolored flags had been tied to trees and flapped in the breeze. A myriad of games and rides had been set up for the day. Townspeople ran about through them, some of whom carried corn dogs or huge puffs of cotton candy.

A sleek blue car pulled into a parking spot and glided to a smooth stop. However, nobody inside made any move to open the door and leave. From the driver's seat, Gideon Gleeful surveyed what was in front of him. "Welcome to the annual Mystery Fair, sonny-boy," he said.

"I s'pose it looks sort of fun," replied Bud from the backseat.

"Well, we're not here for fun. At least not until we take care of a few things. Do you remember the plan?"

Bud nodded, taking note of the index cards in his pocket with his declaration of vengeance written on it. He had had to practice his speech in front of the mirror the night before. What was the point of declaring vengeance if you never put a little bit of theatrics in? At least, that was how his dad saw things.

"Good. Mabel, bless her heart, has broken quite a few health code violations to keep the fair running all this time. All we're going to do is expose them. It's a shame I have to show her the error of her ways. Bud, it's time for you to enact this plan. Go on, make your dad proud."

"Sure, Dad," he said, opening the door to leave the car. He began the walk to the main part of the fair.

"And quit slouching!" Gideon yelled from the car. Before walking out of earshot, Bud forced his shoulders back to straighten his posture as quickly as he could. After crossing the rest of the parking lot, he paid his fee at the fair entrance. His eyes skimmed over the people milling in the paths and enjoying the rides. Unlike them, he had a mission. All he had to do was find Mabel and put his plan into action.

...

"I have a lot of memories from this Mystery Fair. I actually won Waddles here quite a few years ago," Mabel said with a laugh. "His name was Fifteen-Poundy and all I had to do was guess his weight. A real brain-stumper."

"Uh-huh," replied Stan as he became only vaguely aware of Mabel's chatter by watching the pig in front of him. She'd fenced in Waddles and had set up a petting zoo, charging extra for it, of course.

"Oh! It's here!" Mabel exclaimed as she jumped up from the fence and ran over to an unseen box. Dan and one of his friends were carrying out an enormous machine that was mostly covered by a tarp. "Put that down right there! A little to the left. No, your other left! There you go!" she continued.

With a grunt, they set it down on the ground. Dan exhaled and wiped his forehead before going off to explore the rest of the fair. With a flourish of her hands, Mabel pulled the tarp off the machine to reveal it as a carnival game. "Ta-da! Brand new for this year," she said. The game's side was decorated with brightly colored stars and planets, while the inside had a claw hovering over a pile of stuffed animals.

"It's like one of those claw games, right?" Stan asked.

"Well, sort of. Come here, I'll show you." At Mabel's request, they gathered around the game, fingers pressed against the glass. "All you have to do is shoot the moving target up top. If you do that, then the claw will drop."

As Stan surveyed the water pistol mounted in a holster on the machine's side, Mabel said, "Let's give this baby a test run. Since I can always do everything right the first time, this should be a breeze." She turned the machine on, and it came to life with a whir and a flash of lights.

Mabel put in her fare, picked up the water pistol and aimed it at the moving target that was darting around the back board. She pulled the trigger, causing a stream of water to shoot from the gun. When she finally managed to land a hit on the extremely small target, the claw dropped on the stuffed animals below. It failed to pick up anything, and the timer ran out shortly afterward. "That was a fluke! I'll get it next time."

"Let me try! These kinds of games are all over the boardwalk back home. I'll show these locals how it's done," replied Stan.

"You know it's probably rigged, right? And even if it wasn't, aiming the gun will be hard when you can't see." said Ford.

"Of course it's rigged. And I don't need a lecture on why I should wear my glasses right now. That can't stop me."

Just as Stan was about to put his fare into the machine, he saw a small hand tap Mabel on the shoulder from the corner of his vision. They spun around to see none other than Bud Gleeful.

"Ugh. What do you want?" asked Stan, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

"Uh...hold on just a minute," he replied, pulling a pile of index cards from his shirt pocket and shuffling them in his hands until he got them into the correct order. He cleared his throat before beginning to read. "It has come to my attention that our family has been wronged. Wronged, I say! By none other than the collection of people right in front of me. Now, I come here seeking vengeance for your iniquities and impor...imporpri...improprieties!" He finished his speech by wiping the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

The three Pineses momentarily glanced at each other before looking down at Bud. "You're not much without the fancy amulet, are you?" asked Ford.

"What's with the big words?" asked Stan before letting out a snort of a laugh.

Mabel clasped her hands together and looked down at Bud. "Look, why don't you take a break from swearing vengeance for a while? There's a whole fair right here. Go play a game or something."

"No! You're not taking this seriously! And using big words makes everything more intimidating. That's what my dad said. And I didn't come here to be disrespected. I have a plan, you know."

Mabel raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What's that?"

"I'm gonna report you for health code violations unless you agree to talk to my dad to negotiate a business partnership."

"A business partnership, huh? And what health code violations? I don't see any around here. But what's this?" Mabel asked with a gasp of fake surprise, pointing to one of many signs that proclaimed a health inspection had been completed.

Bud inspected the sign for a moment before apparently deeming it legitimate. His face twisted as if he'd just eaten a sour lemon, and he stomped off without another word.

After Ford watched him retreat into the fair, he glanced past the colorful machine to the people behind it. Partially hidden by a tree that faced the woods was a man. He thought it looked like a man, at least. Ford poked his head out past the machine to see what he was doing. As he worked on some unseen object with a screwdriver, his clothes changed colors and patterns as if somebody was changing channels on the TV. The clothes switched from depicting a beach to a cabin covered in snow before they finally landed on a forest image that served as camouflage.

"I'll be right back. I have to, uh, take care of something," he told Mabel and Stan. As Bud was heading back into the fair, he most likely wouldn't have to worry about his interference for a little while.

"Okay," Mabel replied, eyes still fixed on the new game when he left.

"By the way, those signs are fake, aren't they?" Stan asked her.

"Oh, yes. All fake. Not that we're going to tell him that, of course," Mabel whispered. "Besides, what would the town do without its Mystery Fair? I just tell myself that regulations like that are just to keep creative people down!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! Least that's what helps me sleep at night."

...

Bud allowed himself to slouch forward and stuffed the index cards back into his pocket, not caring about how much they bent and wrinkled. He knew he couldn't go back to his dad with nothing done, and tried to think of another plan. After seeing a flash of brown jacket weaving through the trees, he noticed it belonged to one of Mabel's great-nephews: the very one who had stolen the journal.

Bud jogged off the main path to see what he was doing. Perhaps he could come up with a backup plan of some sort to get the journal back. To his amusement, he discovered Stanford was already following someone himself.

Ford suddenly came out from behind a tree and went up to the man he'd been following. "I've never seen clothes that change color like that. Is it some kind of magic fabric?"

The man looked back and forth, twisting his hands together. "I, uh, don't know what you're talking about! It's an optical illusion and not real at all!"

"They look all futuristic."

"No, they don't. They have them everywhere in...whatever year you came from!"

"So it's not an optical illusion. Are you a time traveller or something?"

Bud watched as the man spluttered about but never managed to say anything. He then threw a baby wipe at Ford's face, claiming it to be a "memory wipe."

Ford pulled the wipe off his face. "I forgot nothing. Ha! So you are a time traveler, right?"

"Yes. It's Blendin Blenjamin Blandin. I'm here to fix an anomaly in the past," he replied with a resigned sigh.

"Wait. If you're a time traveller, you must have a time machine. Can I borrow it?"

"Absolutely not! Do you even know how dangerous that would be?"

"Yes! I promise I'll be really careful with it and not cause any paradoxes or prevent myself from being born or anything."

"This is sensitive equipment, you know."

"Did you know that leaving the machine outside in the sun for approximately six minutes increases its effectiveness by twenty percent? It prevents the..uh, circuits from getting too cold and freezing."

"I never learned that in time training. Then again, I slept through most of time training," Blendin mused, putting a finger to his chin.

"Look, there's a fair right here. Why don't you go over there for a little bit?"

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt," he replied.

As Ford and the time traveller returned to the main part of the fair, Bud trailed behind them. He saw Blendin attempt to go on a ride before being forced to place all his belongings in a cubby momentarily. As soon as the lady watching the ride turned her back, Ford picked up the time machine, tucked it into his pocket, and walked off. Bud continued to follow, hiding behind trees and vendor's tents to avoid being seen.

Ford ducked behind a nearby cotton candy cart, which was out of the way of the traffic flow. It was hard to see, but Bud saw him pull out the journal and quickly write something in it when he thought nobody was looking.

Another piece of his dad's advice came to mind: when all else fails, just act cute and get away with everything.

Meanwhile, Ford was just about to put away the journal and emerge from his hiding place when Bud ran up to him. "Hey! Somebody help me! This boy right here stole my journal!" Bud wailed. It was easily loud enough to turn a few heads of nearby townspeople.

Ford's blood ran cold as a few icy glares were sent his way. He hugged the journal closer to himself. It was just Bud, he told himself. He wasn't likely to be much of a threat without his precious magic. "What are you-"

A passerby piped up from the crowd. "Look, I don't know what you're thinking. Give the boy his book back."

Bud put on his best puppy-dog eyes, and afterwards, Ford saw him squint so his eyes would water and appear to tear up. "Please? Can I just have this one little thing?"

"Why, so you can threaten people with it again?" Ford spat back.

Another local said, "I've seen them funny shows Bud does at that Tent o' Telepathy! There's no way he could do something that mean."

A crowd started to form. The faces swam before Ford's eyes as they all took Bud's side and pleaded for him to hand over the journal. The crowd all saw him as the bad guy, Ford realized. It didn't help his case that most of the claims made against him were technically true. Before he could react, Bud reached forward and plucked it from his hands. He sauntered off with a smug grin on his face, followed shortly after by his adoring fans. There was no way to go after him again without looking terrible to the fairgoers.

When the full weight of what happened hit him, he stomped his foot on the dusty path and clenched his hands into fists. How could he have been so irresponsible as to lose the journal? He took a deep breath and opened his hands again. That wasn't worth losing his temper over. What did he care, after all? He had a time machine. While he planned to use it for something bigger, it would do the trick and get the journal back into his hands.

He dug the tape-measurer-like machine from his pocket and pulled the tape back to one hour into the past. When the machine activated, he was enveloped with a flash of light.

As he'd only gone back a few minutes, he found himself behind the cotton candy cart. He realized he still held the journal and a pen in his hand, and breathed a sigh of relief. When he saw Bud come out from behind a tree, he put the journal away and took off into a run. Bud had apparently seen both him and the journal, as he gave chase after him. Adrenaline ran through Ford's veins as the fair practically vanished from his focus. He wove through the crowds at a sprint, bumping and jostling into quite a few people.

Dodging the crowd had become too difficult. Bud, through simply saying "Excuse me," had gotten many of the people to smile at him and move out of his way. Because of that, he was gaining ground. Ford veered off the main path to where the food vendors were. Colorful tents flew past him as he ducked and dodged customers to stop himself from spilling food everywhere.

He looked up to realize that he was headed back in the direction of Stan and Mabel, who were still trying to win that silly claw game. Assessing his options, he wondered if going to them was the right choice. While they'd take his side against Bud, Mabel would undoubtedly discover the journal's existence. Ford wasn't ready for that to happen, and wasn't sure when he ever would be. Some things just had to be kept private.

Deciding against it, he veered left and made a beeline to the Mystery Shack, where he could run inside and lock the door. There was just enough of a crowd to block the way, however. The only shortcut was through Waddles' pen. Begrudgingly sacrificing a piece of his dignity to get what he wanted, he slipped through the fence and ran across the pen. Just as he was almost at the other side, he failed to look below him and tripped over a sleeping Waddles. His face landed squarely into the mud and the journal flew out of his coat. Waddles merely rolled over with a snort before resuming his nap.

Bud caught up to him and picked the journal off the ground. He then turned and ran off into the fair while Ford was still busy wiping mud off his glasses. He shook his head, silently cursed his bad luck, and pulled out the tape measure once again.

...

On his third attempt, Ford went around Waddles' pen during the chase. A person in the crowd bumped into him and sent the journal flying off again when they fell. In the confusion, Bud made off with the journal.

On his fourth attempt, Ford made sure to stop in his tracks and step over Waddles while taking the shortcut. He was too slow and Bud was waiting for him on the other side.

On his fifth attempt, he made sure not to take the journal out right before the chase. Bud saw the top pages sticking out above his jacket anyway and did the same routine where he charmed the passerby into forcing Ford to hand out the journal.

On his sixth attempt, his various efforts started to blend together. He finally managed to lose Bud in the crowd early on and went to the carnival game Stan was at.

"Stan, I need your help!"

"Now? I was just about to beat this dumb game, too."

"Yes! Bud's here," he replied at a whisper in case he had to mention the journal near Mabel.

Stan took the hint and they walked away from her, while she continued to play the game. "This better be good. He came up to us earlier with some plan about health code whatevers. He's not exactly the biggest threat in the universe."

"He's managed to get the journal in every timeline, no matter what I've tried. I'm lucky I've gotten away from him this time. I don't know what I keep doing wrong. The universe is against me."

"He's, like, six. I think you can take him."

"I know! I should. If only I knew what was causing this to happen. To keep losing to Bud Gleeful of all people? This is unacceptable! I have to find what the missing variable is," Ford explained, opening to a spare page in the journal and beginning to detail a complex math equation.

"Wait, what did you mean by 'timelines?'"

Ford glanced around to make sure nobody was watching them before showing Stan the time machine.

"A tape measure," he replied with an eye roll. "Well, that explains everything."

"It's not a tape measure. It's a time machine, and I've been using it to get do-overs every time I've lost the journal," Ford whispered.

"Do I wanna know where you got a time machine?"

"It's not important. But once this distraction is taken care of, I plan to-"

"You plan to what? Why'd you take it in the first place?"

"I'm going to use it to see the future."

"The future?"

"My future. I mean, don't you want to know where you'll be in ten years, or twenty? Maybe people will start taking me more seriously by then. I have to see how everything turns out. Maybe you could even come with me."

"No thanks, I think I'll stay here," Stan replied, laughing nervously. "Aren't there better things to do than just go into the future a few years? You could go anywhere in time!"

Ford looked up from the equation he was doing before continuing to write in the journal. "It's something I want to know, okay? So, according to this, the biggest variable that remains untested is what happens if I go back to Blendin Blandin immediately after I encountered him. But then he'll ask about the machine and...well, it's something to try, anyway. I'm running out of options."

"Better than nothing, I guess," Stan replied, before going back to the game.


	10. For Want of a Journal, Part 2

Ford slipped through the crowd with as little noise and attention being drawn to him as possible. It was likely he was still being followed, after all. It took a bit of searching, but he soon spotted Blendin in the crowd.

From the corner of his eye, Ford caught a glimpse of a pink shirt. Of course Bud was still following him. A thought struck his mind. If he went ahead with his earlier plan and entered the future, he could leave for long enough to formulate a better plan than running away or risking Blendin taking back the machine. He might even kill two birds with one stone and look himself up when he got there. It wasn't as if he was on a time limit in the future, after all.

He left the main fair area for a more secluded part of the woods that was close by. Slowly, he pulled the time machine from his pocket and was just about to switch it from backwards to forwards. The tape was out a bit far, he realized. Before he had time to pull it in, Bud made himself known. "Hey! I know about your time machine!" he yelled.

Ford's attention was still fixed on the tape measure. He said nothing, but activated the machine. Bud ran forward, probably in an attempt to grab it, but was too late. He was just close enough to be caught in the machine's operating area. They vanished in the blink of an eye.

When they arrived, the first thing Ford noticed was the blistering cold that tore through his system. His teeth chattered, and he pulled his too-small jacket closer around himself. Snow and wind swirled around him, making everything difficult to see. However, one building loomed in the distance. It was dark and bereft of any of the attractions that would be there, but it would someday become the Mystery Shack. They'd arrived at some point in the past.

Bud had gone along with him, he realized. What was he going to do about that? He couldn't very well leave him alone in the cold, even if he was an enemy. Besides, he'd mess up the future by staying in the past somehow. He had to leave Bud back in the present before he did anything else.

When Bud got wind of the time travel he'd been affected by, he pointed an accusing finger at Ford. "You! Hand over the journal or I'll take your time machine!"

Ford held the tape measure over his head. "No way! Are you kidding?" Bud ran over and reached for the machine, but Ford managed to keep his hold on it as he moved forward. He stepped over a branch and the laces of his sneaker became tangled, but even that didn't deter him. The shoe slipped off his foot. When his sock grew wet from walking on the snow, he grew colder still. He continued to evade his pursuer nonetheless. Switching the time machine from "backwards" to "forwards," Ford tried in vain to guess how far into the past they'd gone. It couldn't be more than a few decades, couldn't it? "Hey, kid. Just let me get back to the present before anything else happens."

"Kid? I'm only four years younger than you, you know."

Ford pressed the button on the machine to move them forward in time. When they reappeared, their surroundings were unrecognizable. The sky was an inky black, and buildings lay in shambles around them. Men in jumpsuits and guns ran about, yelling at each other. A gigantic baby floated behind them and shot lasers from his eyes. "We may have gone a little too far into the future," Ford remarked.

"A little? Do you even know what you're doing?" Bud asked. "I don't wanna be here either. Let me see!"

"Do you think I'm going to let you mess around with it?"

"That's not fair! I saw you steal it, and I know you weren't supposed to have it either. Why do you want it, huh?"

Ford pondered his response for a moment before deciding to go with the truth. "I wanted to see how I'll turn out in the future. If I become a famous researcher or something, then everyone will have to take me seriously."

"I guess there are worse reasons to steal a time machine."

"We need to focus! I'll make a deal. You'll stop fighting me until we get back to the present, and I'll let you look at the machine to see if I missed anything. I know you won't leave me here, because I still have the journal you want so much."

Bud stared at his feet. "Fine," he said. Under Ford's watchful eye, the time machine was placed into his hands. He turned it over, but failed to see what its problem was. "I've got nothing," he said with a shrug as he handed it back. At least he felt it was less likely for Stanford to leave him behind now.

"Hold one end, and I'll hold the tape," instructed Ford. He handed Bud the machine, switched it to backwards mode, and took hold of the tape. He took several steps backwards and pulled the tape to the point where it was aiming to go several centuries into the past. He wasn't sure how far into the future they'd gone, but he gave his best guess. Bud caught on and held the tape into place so it didn't fly forwards when Ford took hold of the tape.

As a laser blast flew dangerously close to Ford's head, he signaled Bud, causing him to let the tape measure activate. In an instant, they were gone.

The woods and Shack were back in their usual states, or at least something resembling them. Even the snow was gone. The one major difference from the present was how the Shack was swarmed with government agents and black cars with tinted windows. He couldn't begin to guess the context behind that one. He'd miscalculated, then, and had gone too far into the future. Or was it not far enough? No, he'd have heard about it if his relative had attracted the government's attention. "We're almost back. Just a few more tries," said Ford as he pulled the tape to send them several weeks back into the past.

That time around, the government agents were gone, but parts of the Shack were in slight disrepair. A "Grand Re-Opening" banner was slung across the door. With a new plan in mind, Ford began inching towards the Shack with every jump backwards.

At the next try, the Shack was decked out in what looked like Halloween decorations, only with carved melons instead of pumpkins.

After another jump, they arrived back in the present, as marked by the Ferris wheel visible from behind the Shack. Ford took the opportunity to run inside the building and slam the door behind him. After locking the front door, he bounded up the steps to his and Stan's room. He tucked the journal under his mattress. On his return to the front of the Shack, he looked out the window to see Bud pacing back and forth in front. While Bud could possibly come up with a decent plan every once in a while, he lacked the tools necessary to break into a house in broad daylight with so many people around. Ford regretted not using this plan sooner.

Bud caught sight of him looking out the window. "You don't get it!" he shouted. "The only way I'll ever get respect from my dad is to bring that journal back!" Ford could understand, but not to the point where he'd hand the journal over to them. Without another word, he left the back door of the Shack and entered the fair once again.

After walking along the path for some time, he was stopped near the Ferris wheel. "Hey, you!" a voice replied. Ford turned to face a slightly out-of-breath Blendin Blandin. "Where's my time machine? I know you took it!"

Ford winced. He was going to have to return it eventually, and knew what he had to do. Pulling the machine out of his jacket, he handed it over. "Do you have any idea how many rules you've broken? I'm reporting you to the Time Police!" Blendin shouted. "You know, on second thought, I won't look too good for letting a kid steal a time machine. I think I'll, uh, let you off with a warning this time."

"Wow. That's-"

"Wait! You're not getting off the hook that easy. You have to do one thing for me first. Tell me, did you leave behind any anomalies in the past? It's why I was here at all, actually."

"I don't think so. We never even talked to anybody, and we were in the future for most of the time. Wait. I lost my shoe at some point, but that's it. It was in the past, there was a blizzard outside, and the Mystery Shack wasn't the Mystery Shack yet. That's all I know."

Blendin nodded in response. Soon after, he walked off with time machine in hand. Ford's only chance to see his future was gone. Oh, well. He'd seen enough of the future for one day. After all, there was no need to travel years ahead to get excitement. If the glimpses he'd seen in the Shack took place over the current summer, he'd have plenty to look forward to in just the next few months. For the remainder of that day, however, he was going to simply enjoy the remaining hours of the fair. The rest would come in time.

...

"Lady, come on! Other people wanna play the game!"

Stan set down the water pistol after the latest round and wiped his brow. Aiming actually was hard when he didn't wear his glasses. Who knew? The target was a blur.

"What do you think, kiddo? Should we leave this one to the customers?" Mabel asked. "This thing's impossible. If we can't beat it, the best thing to do is let other people waste their money on it."

Stan sighed. "I guess so."

Just as they turned to walk away, a commotion was heard from the people standing around the game. Two tall men in jumpsuits neared the game, practically pushing everyone else out of the way. After paying the fare, one of them stood back, water pistol in hand. In one shot, he hit the target. The claw dropped, and he received the prize shortly after. They then strode off and passed by Mabel and Stan, who could do nothing but stand in open-mouthed shock.

"Why do you always get the prize, Lolph? I know you got the prize last week," one of them said in a stoic tone.

"I know what I'm doing. Blendin Blandin! There you are. Did you complete the mission?" the other one asked, walking off to meet another man in a jumpsuit that had seemingly appeared in a flash from nowhere.

"Uh...Yes! Yes, I did. I bravely fought off the evil forces of...winter weather! And cleaned up the anomalies."

The two taller men turned to each other and shrugged. All three men vanished in the next instant to a time unknown.

"That was weird. But what I really wanna know is how those guys beat the game!"

"I have no idea. Hey, at least we got the money this thing made," remarked Mabel. "That's victory enough."

...

"Dad, I promise I'll get it next time. I can try something else. I'll do-"

"You've done quite enough!" Gideon shouted as he slammed a fist on the table. He paused to take a deep breath and regain his composure before addressing his son again. "Your one goal was to get me in talks with Mabel! The least you could've done was to get the journal back from that brat kid, and you couldn't even do that right."

"Please, let me try again."

"I think I'll take the next plan into my hands. Come along, son. Let me show you something." he replied, leading Bud through the hall of their house that he'd returned to after the fair. Gideon stopped at a door and unlocked it. Bud didn't think he'd ever seen it open before. On entering, he discovered that the room was dominated by a scaled model of Gravity Falls. Sprawled across several tables were reproductions of every building in the town square, as well as tiny wooden dolls decorated to look like the various locals.

"What's all this for?" Bud asked. It must have taken forever to make all of that.

"That doesn't matter," he replied. He led Bud to a building off to the side from the others that appeared to be near the woods. It was the Mystery Shack, complete with dolls of Mabel, her employees, and the kids. He picked up the Mabel doll and stroked its yarn hair. It was strange, but Bud knew better than to comment on it.

"Is all this just about Mabel? And what about the journals?" was all he actually said.

"Oh, it is about all those things. But it's so much more, too," Gideon replied, setting the doll down. "There's a big secret under that li'l shack. Once I have all the journals and the shack in my possession, I do believe I'll have the key to ultimate power. Now do you understand why it's imperative that this succeeds?"

Bud nodded wordlessly. The low light cast eerie shadows over his father's face as he loomed over the model Shack. "We'll need a plan bigger and better than ever before. It may take some time, but I will rule this town someday. And it'll all start with taking over this here Mystery Shack."

The model shack became obscured from Bud's view as Gideon's hands closed around it.

 **ZDUQLQJ WR WLPH WUDYHOHUV: GR QRW WUB WKLV DW KRPH! BRX PDB UXQ LQWR BRXU IXWXUH VHOI DQG LW'OO EH DZNZDUG**


	11. Summerween, Part 1

On an ordinary roadside in Gravity Falls sat a building with posters advertising skeleton costumes and bags of candy on the front window. Over the door, a banner gently flapped in the breeze, proclaiming the building as a "Summerween Superstore." Inside sat costumes, decorations, candy, and bored employees who hated their job more every time someone turned on the wall of talking skeleton heads. However, annoyance over the skeleton heads was nothing in comparison to the sheer loathing felt by one unlucky salesgirl as she picked up the intercom and yelled, "Wait! You can't do that!" at the people currently fleeing the store. For the last time, chocolate coins were not legal tender!

Stan was the first to burst out the door, followed immediately by Ford, Mabel, and Maria. All of them were slightly out-of-breath. Their arms were filled with probably-stolen white plastic bags of decorations and party supplies. "To the Mabel-Mobile!" Mabel exclaimed, dramatically pointing forward. They fled to her car and jumped inside. Engine revving and tires squealing, they cleared the scene before anybody could catch them. The car only hit the curb once, which was a miracle in itself.

"I've never felt so alive!" yelled Stan as they made their getaway. Sticking his head out the window, he allowed the wind to tug at his hair.

"Can you tell us what all this is for now?" Ford asked. Mabel had only described the supplies as "for a surprise," giving no other reason for buying Halloween supplies in June. While the sign over the store read something about a "Summerween," he had no clue what that actually meant.

"It's about time I told you. Today's Summerween! Like Halloween, but in summer. I'm having a few of the ladies from town over, and it's going to be one heck of a party."

"Is it just going to be a bunch of old ladies with knitting needles?" Stan wondered out loud.

Maria chuckled. "Clearly you've never met any of Mabel's friends."

"What's wrong with knitting needles, hmm, Stan?" Mabel asked, looking back at him through the rearview mirror. "Besides, you won't be the only kids there. One of them has a son who's about your age, I think. And maybe you guys could invite people over. The more the merrier, right?"

The twins looked at each other. Who were they going to invite? It wasn't like they had many friends in town. Suddenly, an idea struck Ford on who to ask. Whether he would refuse or not was uncertain, but it was worth a try. Anything would be better than having to make awkward small talk at a party full of complete strangers.

"Is there gonna be trick-or-treating?" Stan asked.

"Well, of course," Mabel replied.

"Yes! I bet we'll get more candy than anyone else in town. We'll need costumes, yeah, but I'll see what I can do..."

Stan's chattering continued as the car drove further away and snaked through winding roads leading back to the Mystery Shack.

...

"Ready? Three, two, one...go!" Mabel exclaimed. Propping their arms on a table, Mabel and one of her friends engaged in an arm-wrestling contest. Her face twisted in concentration, but she lasted for a solid one second before her arm was pushed down to the table.

"Yes! Victory is mine!" cried her friend in an unusually deep voice.

"And the score is...zero rounds for Mabel and thirteen rounds for Grenda. Great game!" said Mabel, shaking Grenda's hand. Leaning back into the couch, she tossed another piece of candy corn into her mouth and returned her attention to the black-and-white movie playing on TV.

The party was in full swing. Purple and black crepe streamers hung throughout the room, and bowls of chips and snacks were liberally placed throughout. Mabel and Grenda were on one couch, Maria had taken the bean bag, and the twins were sprawled on the floor. Outside, the sky had begun to change into shades of orange and pale yellow. Jack-o-melons had been placed on the step and held tiny, flickering lights that acted as a beacon in the dark woods for visitors. One visitor, in fact, waited on the step for someone to let him in. At the door, he knocked.

Inside, Stan was the first to scramble to his feet and open the door. Once Ford looked up from where he sat and saw who was there, he exclaimed, "Fiddleford! You really made it?"

"Yep. Happy Summerween!"

"Well, get in here. High five?" Stan asked, holding up one hand. Fiddleford obliged, lightly slapping his hand. "Weak. We'll have to work on that," Stan continued. As they stepped back into the lights and noise of the party, Ford hastily pulled his gloves out of his jacket pockets and slipped them on his hands. Perhaps he could avoid the inevitable questions from Fiddleford about them should he see his hands. On Fiddleford's entrance and Stan's return, both took a seat on the floor next to him.

The minute they were settled, another knock sounded at the door. That time, it was Mabel who extracted herself from the couch and answered the door. "Pacifica. It's been a long time, hasn't it?" she remarked. A woman and a boy the twins' age stepped into the Shack. Neither looked Mabel in the eye, instead carefully inspecting the Shack.

"I suppose it has," said Pacifica. Her face was an expressionless mask that betrayed none of what she was thinking, which was a result of either extreme boredom or plastic surgery. Turning to the boy, who was presumably her son, she noticed the twins for the first time. "Preston, why don't you say hello to the boys over there?" Preston turned to them and spared nothing more than a brief nod in their direction.

"I can't believe it. Your great-aunt is friends with the Northwests?" Fiddleford whispered.

"What's so special about them? They loaded or something? Is that why they dress like they're in a business meeting?" Stan asked as he stuck his hand into the nearest bowl of Cheese Boodles.

"They're only the richest people in town! They live in a mansion and drive a limousine and own real, live peacocks."

"Hey, this is news to us, too," replied Ford.

Meanwhile, Stan jumped to his feet and approached Preston. Trying the same thing he'd said to Fiddleford, he held up his hand. "High five?" he asked.

Preston gave him a once-over, undoubtedly noticing Stan's grass-stained shorts, worn sneakers, and the leftover Cheese Boodle dust on his hand. "Don't touch me," he replied before sauntering away without another word and sitting down next to Pacifica on the couch. Crossing his arms, he stared straight ahead with a pinched expression.

Meanwhile, Stan returned to his spot on the floor and began licking the cheesy orange dust off his hands. "It was worth a shot. I wasn't gonna give up the chance to ride in a limo."

"I see this place hasn't changed much, Mabel," Pacifica remarked with a humorless chuckle. "Even the leaky roof is still there." When a bowl of chips was passed her way, she looked at it as if it was toxic waste and pushed it away. "Sorry, I'm not putting that much grease in my stomach."

Mabel's lips pressed into a thin line. "If you really don't want to be here, the door's right over there."

Pacifica's eyes widened, and she sunk back into the couch. "No...no, it's fine. The Shack is fine."

While Ford wondered how those two were even friends, there was yet another knock at the door that Mabel had to get up and answer. That time, there was no visitor here to stay for the party. There were only three costumed kids at the door holding out plastic pails shaped like jack-o-melons. The time for trick-or-treating had officially begun. "Go on, take a piece from the bowl on the step," Mabel instructed them.

"What bowl? I don't see one!"

Sure enough, the bowl of candy Mabel put out earlier had vanished. Since there was no more candy in the house, she was forced to shrug and reply, "Someone must've taken it. I don't have any more candy here." The kids dejectedly left the step, mumbling their disappointment as they trod the path out of the woods. With a sigh, Mabel shut the door. "Our candy's gone missing!"

"She's been missing for, like, years!" replied Grenda.

"No, the Summerween candy! That's the last time I'm leaving it outside all unsupervised. Someone must've stolen the entire bowl! That was all we had, too."

"Aw, man! We were gonna eat all the extras tonight!" Stan piped up.

"I guess I have to go get more from the store. I'll be right back. Maria's in charge," Mabel said, leaving the party with her car keys in hand.

"So! We have to pick up the slack from the bowl here that went missing. We're going trick-or-treating later tonight. Are you coming?" asked Ford, addressing Fiddleford.

"Darn tootin'. I made a giant robot costume like in the animes just for this. 'Cept it's not so giant. My dad said it had to be able to fit in the house."

"You still trick-or-treat? I stopped when I was eleven. I'm not an infant, you know. Not that I'd rather be spending Summerween here, either. It's so...common," remarked Preston from the couch. That earned an eye roll from Fiddleford and a pang of worry from Ford. The entire time they were talking, he felt Preston's eyes clinically inspecting him from behind. Everything Ford could possibly say was fodder to be picked apart by him.

"Preston, you're here because you need to socialize," said Pacifica, leading Preston to send a glare at the other boys.

"Why? It's just Summerween. What does it matter?"

Just as Stan was about to ask if he really hated fun that much, he spotted a flash of red from outside. Normally, he would've dismissed it as a trick-or-treater, but that window faced the back of the Shack. "Guys, I have to check something out! I think I might've seen the jerk who stole all our candy!" he said as he rose to his feet. Pressing his nose against the window, he stared out. There it was again. Against the forests' dark greens and browns was a flash of red that appeared for a moment before disappearing behind a bush.

Wasting no time, Stan bolted for the front door and left the Shack. He scanned the foliage, looking to catch another glimpse of what he'd seen. Finally, he reached the back of the Shack and locked his attention on the bush he'd seen the red flash disappear behind. Sure enough, a nearly imperceptible rustle sounded from behind the leaves. Stan silently crept up towards it. Sure enough, a small figure in a tattered red cape and cowboy hat sat with his back to Stan, dumping candy from Mabel's bowl into a black sack.

Just as Stan was ready to jump out and confront him, the figure stood and rose out of the shadows. For the first time, Stan noticed the slight, otherworldly glow exuding from the person in front of him. He couldn't even see the figure's feet, as he floated above the ground, cape billowing out behind him. So it wasn't just some kid. It was a weird, magical Gravity Falls thing: a ghost, maybe? Still, he was ready to give him a piece of his mind when the ghost picked up the sack and swiftly drifted away.

Stan was forced to follow the ghost, which thankfully hadn't noticed him. He drew further and further away from the Shack while diving behind bushes. The ghost's movement was fast and floating, but Stan managed to keep up with him until they reached the closest house to the Shack, which was halfway to town. Just like any other trick-or-treater, the ghost strode up the walkway past the life-sized witch and skeleton decorations. From his spot behind a tree, Stan took sight of the bowl of candy left out on the step. In one fell swoop, the ghost emptied its contents into the sack, just like with Mabel's.

Stan had had enough of this. He couldn't sit around and do nothing any longer. Jumping out of the bush, he exclaimed, "Hey, you! I know you took our candy!"

The ghost said nothing, but turned to face Stan. He was clad in the strangest costume Stan had ever seen. It appeared to be composed out of mismatched bits of other Summerween costumes: a glove with a skeleton hand, the plastic breastplate of a knight, the silver-painted cardboard leg of a robot, and still more. Underneath the hat, a blank white mask rendered his expression unreadable. A second look revealed the existence of multiple different masks, one on each side of his head.

Raising a glowing hand in Stan's direction, the ghost tilted his head for a second as if figuring out what to do with him. In the next instant, Stan found himself being flung across the yard until he bumped into the witch decoration. For his next move, the ghost made the witch's arms wrap around Stan, preventing him from giving chase. While the witch's horrible canned cackle rang out, the ghost disappeared into the night with alarming speed.

Stan was released from the ghostly magic when the witch once again became completely inanimate. Behind him, the house's front door swung open. "Care to explain what happened to all my candy?"

"I swear I didn't take it!"

The old woman at the door glared at him. "Uh-huh. Sure you didn't. It was right there a minute ago and you're the only other one here."

For once, Stan was innocent. However, she probably wouldn't buy the excuse of "a ghost took it." He'd already tried that one on a teacher after he forgot his homework. So he simply bolted as fast as he could. The woman yelled at him from inside her house, but it didn't take long to leave her behind. Still, that was way too close a call. He'd almost gotten in trouble for no reason, and it was all that stupid ghost's fault. No matter how easily replaceable the stolen candy was, it didn't matter to him. It was personal now. He would get that candy back.

The only problem was finding out where the ghost had flown off to. He could've been anywhere in town by then, judging by the speed he went at. Wait, he thought. The ghost was stealing as much candy as he could find. If Stan was a ghost who wanted to steal candy, where would he go?

Of course! The same place they'd stolen candy from earlier that day! The Summerween Superstore held the biggest stash of candy in town. The ghost would show up there eventually, right? Even if it was a mere assumption, it was all Stan had. He set off in the direction of the Superstore without wasting another second.

...

By the time the Superstore's parking lot came into view, Stan was slightly out of breath and red-faced from the run there. Throughout his journey, he had heard whispers and snatches of conversation from other trick-or-treaters he happened to pass by. He wasn't the only agitated kid in search of candy, it seemed. The candy had been going missing all over town and grew harder to find by the minute.

Glancing over the parking lot, something strange became apparent. There were barely any cars to be seen. Even though most of the town would've been out trick-or-treating at that time, he would've expected the store to be busier than it was. Mabel's pink car was also nowhere in sight, but Stan assumed she'd already picked up the replacement candy and was already on her way back to the Shack. Stan pressed forward anyway despite having the choice to leave; he wasn't about to come out this far for nothing. Besides, he didn't want the ghost stealing the replacement candy, too.

The store's automatic doors flew open. The last remaining stragglers that hadn't already left fled the store, screaming and waving their arms. They ran to their cars and peeled away as quickly as they could. Inside the store, the lights flashed on and off. Stan cleared the remaining distance to the store and entered. Every aisle was strangely devoid of customers, and even the employees had deserted their cash registers. Costumes and decorations were strewn about the ground, and the entire store was in disarray.

The store was quiet, making the sound of Stan's footsteps sound deafeningly loud by comparison. He held his breath as he neared the candy aisle. When he turned the corner, the familiar red-caped figure stood in front of the now-empty display. Somehow, entire bags of candy had been poured into that sack. The ghost turned slowly. "You..." he whispered. Despite its strange echo, his voice sounded as young as Stan's own.

They stood in silence for a moment before the ghost lifted a hand once again. The shadowed forms of an entire army of Summerween decorations were pulled from various parts of the store to loom in front of Stan. They blocked both ends of the aisle, making escape difficult. The ghost simply vanished, leaving him alone with the grotesque creations of plastic and cloth staring back at him.

The shelves would take too long to climb. As Stan caught a glimpse of mock weapons in a bin for costume accessories, he knew what he had to do. Holding a wooden sword in one hand and a fake mace in the other, he faced the decorations head-on. With one lucky swing of the sword, he managed to slice the head off a Styrofoam skeleton. The thing didn't go down, but it was distracted long enough for Stan to slip out of the aisle.

The army of Summerween decorations pursued him still. Stan soon learned that no matter where he ran to in the store, nowhere was safe. Crepe streamers reached towards him and attempted to tangle around him, but the sword cut through them easily enough. Jack-o-melons spit fire from their carved mouths, causing Stan to dodge them. The wall of talking skeleton heads started laughing without being set off, alerting everything in the store to his location.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a hanging grim reaper decoration floated up behind him. He turned just in time to see it raise its scythe, no emotion whatsoever showing in its plastic skull face. Stan blocked the strike with the sword before swiftly swinging the mace's ball around the scythe to pull it away from the reaper. Even as he celebrated that momentary victory, three more skeletons and a plastic zombie had come up on him from behind. He attempted to fight them off with the meager weapons he had, but they wouldn't stop no matter how many hits they took. Soon, even that tiny advantage vanished. While Stan was distracted by evading the zombie decoration, the two skeletons snuck up from behind and knocked into him. As Stan was thrown off-balance, the sword and mace clattered to the ground out of his reach.

By that point, Stan was completely breathless and his legs felt like jelly. No matter what he did, he was badly outnumbered and the ghost was nowhere in sight. He sighed. What was he missing? Maybe there was some way to defeat the ghost that he didn't know about.

A new plan formed. He saw an opening and sprinted away from the decorations as fast as he could. After weaving through several aisles and nearing the front of the store, he managed to lose them long enough to dart behind a cash register. He wrapped his arms around his knees, taking a moment to catch his breath. The counter and cash register hid him from sight, but the occasional sounds of something hitting the floor or clunky footsteps were still heard. Once he knew the coast was clear, he peeked out to look for the phone stationed near the register.

Reaching above the counter, he grabbed the phone and pulled it closer. He dialed the Mystery Shack's number. Listening to the phone ring, he waited for somebody to answer.


	12. Summerween, Part 2

"He's been gone for an hour! Where could he possibly be?" Ford wondered out loud.

Things at the Shack had changed little since Stan left in a hurry. Mabel had returned from the store and was equally confused about his whereabouts, the Northwests still looked as if they'd rather be anywhere but there, and the sky had begun to darken. If he didn't get back soon, they wouldn't have enough time to trick-or-treat.

Over the din of the party and the blaring TV, a tinny ring came from the kitchen. Ford tilted his head, wondering if he was imagining it for a second before hearing it again. The phone was ringing. He excused himself from the living room to pick it up. As soon as he held it to his ear and before he could get a word in, Stan loudly whispered, "Hey! Ford, that you?"

"Stan?! What are you-"

"Does the journal have anything about ghosts in it? 'Cause I think one has it out for me."

"You saw a real ghost? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Listen, I'm at the Superstore right now. This ghost kid is mad at me and stealing all the candy in town. I just got attacked by lawn decorations. What should I do?"

"Hold on just a second," replied Ford, leaving the phone behind while he ran to his room and retrieved the journal. As soon as he again reached the kitchen, he flipped through the pages. "I thought I saw something in here about this...Aha! Here we go."

The entry on ghosts was rather short, as it was only a paragraph long. The bottom of the page contained a footnote explaining that further information and a categorization system would be found in another journal. "Ghosts usually remain on this plane of existence due to unfinished business of some kind. They tend to have powers such as manipulating physical objects and floating above the ground. If one is being a nuisance and exorcism tools are not available, consider figuring out why it's angry and calming it down," said Ford, reading out loud.

"That's it? Really?"

"It's all that's written in the book," Ford replied.

In the background, something heavy audibly crashed to the ground, but Stan didn't comment on it. "I'll try that, I guess. Only if nothing else works. The entire store is out to get me. They just knocked over a whole shelf! They're coming closer and I think they're gonna find me soon. Gotta go!" Stan exclaimed. Before Ford could say anything else or ask who "they" were, Stan hung up the phone. With a sigh, Ford replaced the Shack's phone in its holder. There was no chance of him answering again.

Ford heard a shuffling of feet directly behind him. He flinched, and his heart began to pound faster. Somebody had been listening to him. Somebody had seen him with the journal! Was it Mabel? Would she be mad at him for keeping the book a secret from her? Or was it Fiddleford? Would he never want to see Ford again if he knew how often the twins got into dangerous situations? Ford gulped. He turned to see who'd been watching him. It wasn't Mabel or Fiddleford. No, the true culprit was far worse than either of them.

"Preston."

Raising an eyebrow and scoffing, Preston stared at Ford. "What were you talking about, huh? Ghosts? You don't seriously believe that nonsense exists, do you? And even if they did exist, why would you play nice with them instead of destroying them on the spot?"

"Well, uh...why wouldn't I believe in ghosts? I've seen weirder things in this town already," replied Ford.

"If I had some kind of proof, or family records, or anything, maybe I'd think differently. But I don't. All I know is that you're just like my mother. Going on about ghosts like that. She says she's seen one, you know. And that it changed her life. Well, all I know is that that kind of thinking is ruining the legacy of my entire family!"

The thing about people like Preston was that they could smell fear. If a perceived weakness became apparent, the victim was dead meat. Whether in Oregon or New Jersey, it was always the same. Ford forced himself to keep composed despite his dry throat and pumping adrenaline. "These anomalies are still real, no matter what they did to your family," he said.

Preston scoffed. "Only a freak would still believe that. Actually, that makes too much sense. I bet you'd belong in that journal, too."

Ford took a step back, shoulders slumping forward. It was as if he'd spent an eternity with Preston in that kitchen and would have to spend another eternity in there before the tirade would stop. Every second was painfully drawn out. He didn't notice anything else of what happened around him in those agonizing moments, including the presence of a third person who'd entered the vicinity of the conversation.

"I bet you think you're so smart, don't you? With the big book and the glasses. And the, uh...gloves in summer?" Preston continued. Ford's eyes widened, and he pulled his hands closer to his body. He dropped his gaze to stare at his shoes.

"Hit a nerve there, didn't I? What are you hiding?" In one lightning-fast motion, he lunged forward and yanked off one of Ford's gloves. Blinking as quickly as he could, Ford desperately tried to ward off the first signs of tears. He would not cry in front of Preston, he repeated to himself. He could not cry. "I was right about you. But seriously, who would want to be around someone who's obsessed with all that weird stuff?"

"I would."

Ford and Preston turned to see Fiddleford standing in the doorway. Presumably, he had heard the yelling from the kitchen and left the party to investigate. Even though Ford put his gloveless hand behind his back, it was too late. Fiddleford had undoubtedly seen the six fingers. "Excuse me?" asked Preston, glare pointed at the third person in the room.

"In this town? Why, you'd hafta be blind not to notice all the weird stuff that goes on here. I met Ford when we were huntin' down killer robots. Just yesterday I saw gnomes rooting through my trash!"

"I meant what I said. I don't have to explain myself any further to the lot of you. I think I'm done here," Preston said, motioning to Ford's still-wide eyes and wilted posture. The damage had been done. "Time to ditch this dump," he continued. With that, he held the glove in front of him as if it were poisonous and dropped it on the floor. Without another glance, he walked out of the room.

Ford and Fiddleford locked eyes in silence. Fiddleford was the first to break the gaze, bending down and gently picking the glove up off the floor. Ford momentarily hesitated when Fiddleford held out the glove to him. What did it matter? Fiddleford had already seen his strange hands. He reached forward and took the glove, quickly pulling it on. "You...you don't mind it?"

Fiddleford shook his head no. "Now, come on," he said. "Let's go back to the party."

One last hopeful glance passed between them. Without another word, they left the kitchen and returned to the chatter and laughter of the living room.

...

Stan knew he couldn't hide behind a counter forever. The ghost still roamed free somewhere, so he'd have to face him eventually. Reaching up, he placed the phone back onto its receiver. Unfortunately, he may have to resort to the journal's plans to deal with ghosts. He couldn't exactly punch an incorporeal being, after all.

Coming out from behind the counter, he ran to where the plastic sword lay on the ground and picked it up in case he had to defend himself again. Sure enough, the band of Summerween decorations quickly clued on to his presence and raced towards him. One by one, they appeared from every possible direction: from the front, back, and aisles of the store. Stan raced forward, sword in hand, and continued to beat them off whenever one got too close.

"Hey! I know you're still here. I know you're controlling all this. What the heck is your problem?" Stan exclaimed to the ceiling. There was no response, and the decorations did not stop. His entire field of view encompassed nothing but the florescent ceiling lights, a whirl of fabric, and a myriad of monstrous plastic faces. One thing was clear: he was losing, badly.

Eventually, they'd backed Stan up against the shelf of talking skeleton heads. When he lost the sword, he resorted to throwing the skeleton heads at the decorations to keep them all off at once. Every time one hit, they would go off with something akin to, "Why did two skeletons fight each other? Because they had a bone to pick!"

"Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you? Come on, ghost! Answer me!" Stan yelled.

"I have a name, you know," came the strange, echoing voice behind him. "It was Michael Miller. Not that it matters anymore."

The Summerween decorations froze in place, some in mid-attack. Stan turned to see the ghost floating above them all, cape fluttering in midair. "And I don't even know you. All you did was get in my way."

"Get in your way? Of what? What's your problem?"

"I was on my way to getting every last piece of Summerween candy in Gravity Falls!"

"But why?" asked Stan. It was best to keep the ghost talking. Perhaps that would lead to a way to reason with or defeat him.

"Because I never got to trick-or-treat when I was alive! Why should anyone else get to?"

"Well, why didn't you get to?"

The ghost descended to the ground until his translucent feet appeared to touch the floor. "Mom and Dad barely had any money, you know? I never got a real costume before. And I felt stupid going out there in my regular clothes. So I saved up and stole from yard sales and got this together," he said, motioning to his mismatched costume. "I went out for the first time, but none of the kids I saw would go with me. It just wouldn't be trick-or-treating if I was by myself! Some of 'em tried to be all nice about it, but some just said I was too poor and my costume was creepy. I went all over town trying to find someone. Soon I didn't recognize any of the houses, and all the lights went out, and it got super dark. I ended up in the woods, trying to find some shortcut home. That forest was big, and scary, and full of monsters, and...and I was by myself, and..."

His last sentence trailed off into silence before it was finished, but the meaning was clear nonetheless. That night, he didn't make it out of the forest alive. A shiver ran down Stan's spine.

"What do you want, then? What will make you give back all our candy?"

The ghost placed a finger on his chin, clearly mulling over the question. "I know. Trick-or-treat with me. Just for a little while."

"And then you'll stop bugging us? And give back the candy?"

"Promise."

"It's a deal," replied Stan. At that, the ghost raised a hand in the air. All the attacking Summerween decorations instantly fell to the ground like the inanimate objects they were. Gradually, the Superstore reverted to its non-trashed state. The overhead lights flickered back to life, and every single decoration was replaced on its proper shelf.

For the first time, Stan noticed that the ghost's eyes were visible through holes in the mask. They held a genuine shine of excitement in them. It was the same look his brother got whenever he started rambling on about nerd games or anomalies.

The two boys made their way to the front of the store, with one walking and the other floating slightly above him. "You're lucky I have to walk back to the Shack anyway. I guess we'll hit whatever houses are on the way. You're also lucky you're dead and can't hog any of the candy we get," said Stan.

"Wait, what?"

"I don't even know if ghosts can eat. You guys don't have organs or whatever, do you?"

The automatic doors slid open. Before left the empty store behind, the ghost had one last comment to make.

"You know, I never even thought of that."

...

The creaking wooden steps to the Mystery Shack were a highly uncomfortable place to sit. If Preston got so much as a splinter from this house, he was suing. Inside, the party continued, but Preston wanted to do nothing else besides wait outside until his mother ended her silly charades of friendship and took him home.

There was nothing else to gain from the people inside, but boredom gnawed at him anyway. That was, until the other Pines boy ran up the path with his hands and pockets stuffed with candy. There was another kid next to Stan who appeared to be...floating off the ground? No. There was no way. Spending time around the weirdos inside was getting to him. That was the only explanation for what was before his eyes.

Stan barely took notice of Preston, only turning to the not-ghost boy. "Well, this is my house. Time to give back the candy."

The boy turned the black sack in his hand upside down, but no candy fell from it. Instead, an unearthly blue glow emanated from the bag's opening. In one instant, the candy bowl next to Preston was empty, with Mabel's replacement candy residing inside the house. In the next, the bowl was magically filled to the top. It was impossible, and yet it had happened.

"It's all been returned to where I took it from. And Stan?" the boy asked, expression unreadable by the mask.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

Finally at peace, the ghost's form vanished into thin air.

Stan didn't seem overly perturbed by that, only staring at the space where the boy had once been. Preston was a different story. His mouth dropped open as if he were about to speak, but no sound came except a strange squeaking noise. No! The freaks couldn't possibly be right! His mother couldn't possibly be telling the truth! Ghosts couldn't possibly exist! And yet, there was no other explanation. There was proof. They were right. He was wrong.

With that realization, he fainted dead away.

What happened next was a blur. Somebody had heard the crash of something hitting the porch and opened the door to find Preston sprawled out across the steps. A crowd of partygoers formed, with Pacifica pushing her way to the front and pulling her son into a standing position once he'd regained consciousness. A barrage of questions were thrown about as everyone tried to find out what happened.

"I think we've had enough for tonight. I'll see you around, Mabel," remarked Pacifica as she began to guide the still-woozy Preston towards their limo.

"Wait! Excuse me! Ms. Northwest!" Ford exclaimed. She turned to face him, stopping in her tracks. "All this weird stuff, magic, monsters, ghosts? It's real. Isn't it?"

"It's right in front of your own two eyes," replied Pacifica, an edge of something new, perhaps sadness, creeping into her voice. "Isn't it?" She seemed to collect herself after a split second before storming off. Ford was left in her wake, a million unasked questions hanging off his lips.

With Pacifica gone, Ford turned his attention to Stan. "Where were you? What happened?"

"That's kind of a long story," he replied. "But I'll tell you guys everything! Now, come on, let's get our costumes on. If we don't hurry, you guys will miss trick-or-treating! And I'm ready for Round Two of mine," said Stan, to the reply of several quizzical stares.

Stan, Ford, and Fiddleford wove past the adults and back into the house, getting their costumes on as quickly as possible. Soon, a vampire, an elf, and a mecha robot stood at the doorway, treat pails in hand.

"Smile!" Mabel exclaimed, snapping a photo of them. "Here's one for the scrapbook."

"What are we waiting for? Let's go already!" exclaimed Stan. Ford and Fidds needed no further explanation, running forward into the night with only one final wave to Mabel. As Stan explained the whole story to his audience of two, the three kids set off on the path towards town. Summerween wasn't over yet, after all.

 **JKRVWV RI WKH SDVW ZRQ'W KLGH** **IRUHYHU**


	13. Boss Swap, Part 1

There were thirty seconds until nine o' clock, and it was time to go. Mabel glanced in the mirror one last time to make sure everything was satisfactory before picking up the cane with a star on top and ribbons trailing off it. In the corner of the living room, a small and boxy TV blared as a game show played out across the dusty screen. "Now returning to 'Trivia Masters!' Will Sandra finally answer the question on bumblebee farming correctly and take home the prize? Or will Brandon come from behind to defeat her? Find out now!"

Mabel glanced at the screen briefly before shutting off the TV. She left the room and wove through the Shack's halls into the gift shop. In the instant the clock switched from eight-fifty-nine to nine o' clock, she reached the front door and threw it open. Several tourists stood outside the building in the fresh morning air, with still more emerging from their cars. It wasn't one of her bigger groups, but the first tours of the day rarely were. Mabel raised her hands in a flourish, finally addressing them. "Welcome, all, to a place of wonder and amazement. Folks, this is the Mystery Shack!"

When people filed in, Mabel gathered them in a group and led them around, showing off every painted and glued-together attraction. "And over here is the Seven-Legged Spider! A lot of legs, but slightly less of them than normal!" she exclaimed while the tourists snapped pictures of a fake spider with googly eyes and a cast where one leg should be.

As Mabel continued the tour, the rest of the Shack slowly came to life. Maria had already arrived, Dan showed up fifteen minutes late to work and took his seat behind the register, and the twins eventually emerged from their room. By the time Mabel had returned from the finished tour and the customers began wandering the gift shop, the entire crew was present. Shortly thereafter, she took a seat near the register, ready to talk to her customers.

The first to come up to her was a woman only slightly younger than her that remarked, "I wish more people had heard of this place. The kitten with ten heads was very inspired."

"You know what? Why don't you take this bumper sticker. On the house!" Mabel replied. Several of the women standing nearby chuckled when she made a crack about sticking them over their husbands' mouths. Soon, a sizable chunk of the tourists had gathered around Mabel, staring expectantly. She pulled out an entire stack of the stickers and pointed to people in her impromptu audience. "You get a bumper sticker! You get a bumper sticker! Everyone gets a bumper sticker!" Soon, the entire stock was gone.

On the other side of the Shack, a commotion began to form. Mabel couldn't see what it was, but knew something wasn't right when the occasional shout came from a group of people gathered around the carpet just outside the gift shop. When she made her way over there, the first thing she noticed was a small girl with a bottle of paint and a brush in her hand, blue streaks decorating her face. The already old and faded carpet was now marred by blue streaks and swirls. Judging by the shoes of the people closest to it, the wet paint had smeared and made a mess of whatever touched it. "You aren't going to make us pay for this thing, are you? She's only five, and she'll be so upset if she gets in trouble!" said a woman who she presumed to be her mother. "Please don't make this outing be a waste of my money," she continued, lowering her voice in an aside to Mabel.

At the girl's massive eyes and quivering lip, Mabel gave in. "It's not a big deal. I can't say no to a little creative expression. Maybe I'll add some glitter to it later," she replied with her patented Ms. Mystery smile. The customers shuffled away into the gift shop before vanishing from her sight. "Maria? Would you mind getting the cleaning supplies? As much of a good look as this rug has now, I can't have all these people stepping in the wet paint," she called out.

"On it!" came the distant reply. Over the next several minutes, the tourists began to filter out into their cars. The Shack fell into the lull that often came between tours. That lull only ended when a door was heard opening in the distance. "Everyone, come quick! Look what I found! It's way better than cleaning supplies," exclaimed Maria.

She found her standing in front of a mysterious door decorated with golden swirls that hadn't been opened in an eternity. "A secret room," Maria whispered. Stan and Ford made their way over from the gift shop to investigate and soon joined the others in inspecting the door. When Maria threw open the door, they clamored to see what lay within.

Ford sharply inhaled a huge breath of musty air, which caused him to promptly begin coughing. "Wow, it smells like secrets!" he managed to say once the coughing ceased. The hidden room was filled with even more boxes of junk. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs, while the calendar on the wall dated back to 1982.

As the twins and Maria pushed forward into the room and began poking around, Mabel was rendered speechless. Her eyes darted around the room before spotting a flash of fabric. She went towards it to discover a frayed and faded blue-and-white baseball cap. She picked it up delicately, as if it was about to crumble to dust through her fingers, and looked intently at the blue pine tree stitched across its front. Her entire face seemed to sag a bit more at the discovery. In that moment, she looked infinitely older. It wasn't until Stan exclaimed, "Hey, look at this!" and began making carpet angels that Mabel perked up again.

The rug he laid on was green and patterned with elaborate gold swirls threaded into the material. Come to think of it, the carpet would look quite nice outside the gift shop. The old one was beginning to fall apart anyway, even without the paint marks. "Forget the cleaning supplies, why don't we just use this carpet instead?" she asked. On receiving several approving nods in response, she rolled up the rug and failed to notice the minuscule sparks of static electricity emanating from it.

On returning to where the rug was to go, Mabel laid it out and began unrolling it. While she did so, Stan piped up, "Y'know, I was thinking about something in the gift shop. Do you ever think you'd make more money if you were stricter about everything around here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Not allowing refunds. Not giving free stuff away. Not letting random people paint your stuff."

"I've gotten along fine all these years just the way I've been doing things. There's no need to be nasty to potential customers. Besides, if I have to con people and lie all the time, I might as well be nice about it."

By then, the rug had been rolled out. Stan stepped onto it to get closer to Mabel and began pacing back and forth across it. His socks were soon electrically charged from the static running through it. "Yeah, but do you actually make cash? I bet I could make more money if I ran the Shack. I wouldn't let nobody push me around," he said.

It was true that the Shack made just enough money to keep its doors open. Still, Mabel considered the true reason behind the leaking roof, the rotting wood on the outside steps, and the cracked living room window. It wasn't as if she was about to admit that to Stan, though. The two circled around each other on the carpet as they continued to argue. "Kindness goes far in business. I bet I can make more money on vacation than you can running the Shack."

"Oh, yeah? Why don't we test it out, then?"

"We can! I'll go on vacation for the weekend and you can run the Shack. If I win, you have to, uh, sing a song! Of my choosing."

"And if I win, you have to wear all-black funeral outfits for the rest of summer. And let me stay as boss."

"Fine. Is that a deal?" she asked, outstretching her hand.

"Deal," he replied, putting his hand in hers for a firm handshake. In that instant, a crackling current of static electricity from the carpet coursed between them just as the bet was finalized.

For a moment, they were both frozen to the spot. When they broke the handshake and glanced at each other, it was not the other person's eyes staring back at them, but their own. There was a split second of silence, of realization, before both Stan and Mabel began screaming at the top of their lungs. "What? What happened?" exclaimed Ford as they stared at each other in horror.

"The carpet! It switched our bodies!"

"I'm all old! No! I can't be old!" yelled Mabel, no, Stan, as he curled up in the nearest corner and began rocking back and forth.

Ford desperately searched his brain for a solution as both people continued to panic. He looked to Maria, whose blank expression was most likely a front to keep herself from falling into a similar meltdown. She suddenly snapped out of it and said, "What if they just did it again?"

"You're right! If you do exactly what you did the first time, maybe you'll switch back," replied Ford as he spotted the tag sticking out from the rug. "Experiment 78: Electron Carpet," he read. "I get it now. Atoms swap electrons, and this carpet uses the static electricity to switch minds. All you'll have to do is shock each other again and you should switch back."

They hurried to their former places on the carpet. "Okay. So I was kind of walking around in a circle on this carpet," said Stan as he did exactly that.

"So was I. And then we shook hands just like this," replied Mabel. When they shook hands a second time, the familiar bolt of static electricity coursed through them again. When the tingling feeling stopped, they looked down to find that they were in their proper bodies once again.

Stan breathed a sigh of relief. "That was really easy. I thought we'd have to learn some kind of life lesson first."

"Hey, the bet's still on, right?" Mabel asked.

"Of course it is! Hope you enjoy wearing black all summer!"

"Hope you enjoy giving me back the shack in, oh, seventy-two hours!"

...

"See you in a few days when I come back with a gazillion dollars," Mabel said as she stuffed her suitcases into the trunk. Glancing at Stan one last time with a grin, she tossed Stan her pink fez. In the instant he placed it on his head, the Shack was under new management. As Mabel drove off, he swore he could hear her cackling loudly even as the car began to vanish along the dust-caked road.

In his first hours as boss, Stan had somehow produced a black suit and red bow tie, and proudly wore it around the house. He gathered the remaining members of the Mystery Shack team into the gift shop, standing on a chair so he could appear taller than everyone else. "I'm all of you guys' boss now. So there's going to be some changes around here," he said before glancing out the window to see a tour bus pulling into the parking lot. Soon, the tourists began to filter in, sometimes snapping pictures at the phony attractions.

"Dan. See those snow globes over there?" Mark them up," he said. When Dan changed the two-dollar price tag to twenty dollars, Stan shook his head. "Not enough. Mark it up again." With the addition of another zero, the snow globe now cost two hundred dollars.

Now to sell them off. Stan chose his target, a tourist who had just walked in the door and couldn't possibly have heard the preceding exchange. "Could I interest you in buying a special edition Mystery Shack snow globe?" he asked, leading the man to the display. "It's really rare. Only twenty of them exist in the whole world, and you're looking at 'em. The snowflakes were harvested from the faraway kingdom of Antarctica, and the figures were handcrafted right in our backyard," he explained.

"Oh, boy! That's the most legitimate thing I've ever heard. I'll take it," replied the tourist as he slapped two hundred dollars into Stan's hand. As Stan dropped the slightly crumpled bills into a nearby glass jar, a smile spread across his face. The money in the jar was real, tangible proof that he'd succeeded at something. He hadn't had to struggle at it for months before improving, like with boxing. He wasn't so overwhelmed by everything that he gave up, like the majority of his schoolwork. Finally, he had made something for himself.

"I'll stay in here. Ford, you're on tour duty. You know what to do, right? Just take them around the attractions."

Ford rolled his eyes. "I think I can manage. I've seen Mabel do it enough times," he said. "Not that I'll be doing exactly what she did." As he gathered the tourists into a group to begin the tour, he rolled a chalkboard from another room into where he was to begin. He addressed the group with, "Greetings, fellow seekers of mystery! I hope this tour proves informative on the various conspiracies surrounding this town. Now, if you'll step right this way..."

Stan watched the cuckoo clock on the wall as the minutes began to tick by. His sales were small at first, consisting of only a snow globe here or an extra t-shirt there. Soon, however, the money in the glass jar began to add up. Stan stared inside the jar, shaking it just enough for the coins inside to bounce around. There's no way Mabel could possibly be making more money on vacation, he thought.

...

A line of hopefuls snaked and wound their way through the back lots of the building in which Trivia Masters was produced, hoping for their chance to enter. Stuck in line, Mabel tapped her foot and craned her neck to look ahead. She couldn't even see the place in which the line ended. Tapping her foot impatiently, she listened to the mindless tick-tick of the clock in a nearby office. She'd been standing in line for an hour and had barely moved an inch. It was impossible to make money this way.

Mabel spotted something sticking out of the nearby vent, stretching to see what it was without losing her place in line. Pulling it out, she realized it was a one-dollar bill. With a grin, she tucked it into her front pocket. At least she wouldn't come home completely empty-handed.

The monotony was interrupted by a camera crew pushing through the lot, trailing stray wires and equipment behind them. At the sight of them, Mabel had an awful, awful idea. Oh, she already knew that the idea would keep her up at night for the next few days. Still, she put it into action. Just before the camera crew was out of earshot, Mabel cried, "Oh, no! I have to get on this show! I've been living on my own for almost forty years, and my parents died, and I need it to support my business!"

The crew turned around. "Look, someone with a vaguely sad backstory. We can set an inspirational montage to this! Think of the views. Ma'am, why don't you come with us," one said. She agreed, and they led her through the lot to where the game was played. Apparently the crew had contained someone a bit more powerful than the average cameraman. What she said wasn't lying, she told herself. No need to get upset. Not lying. Not lying. Not-

The lots gave way to the set of the game show. Time seemed to speed up into a blur of filling out forms and interviews before it was decided that Mabel would be a contestant that day. Before long, she stood behind the podium, facing a plethora of hot spotlights and cameramen. "Three, two, one...welcome to this week's episode of Trivia Masters! Our contestants for this episode are Delilah and Mabel!" the host boomed as the camera panned over each contestant. "All they have to do is be the first to answer the given question to win a certain amount of money. Let's begin."

The display screen in front of them changed to display a question: What musical key do most American cars honk their horn in? Mabel slammed the buzzer instinctively despite having no clue what the answer was. Still, all she had to do was guess a letter; how hard could it be? "The key of F?" she ventured.

"Correct! One hundred dollars to Mabel," came the reply. Breathing a sigh of relief, she told herself that she'd do fine.


	14. Boss Swap, Part 2

In the middle of the tour, Stan watched on as a man ran into the gift shop holding a large sack over his shoulder. As he panted and hunched over to rest his hands on his knees, Stan swore something in the bag moved on its own volition. "Am I too late for the tour?" asked the man once he'd caught his breath.

"Nah, it's just through that door. You got money to pay for it?"

"I'll do you one better," he replied. He put the sack on the floor. When he opened it, out stumbled a tiny baby goat. "He's yours! Well, I'd best be going. If I wait around here much longer, I'll miss the tour." Then, the man dashed after Ford's group, whom had quickly retreated into another room to supposedly view the first attractions.

The goat hadn't budged from where he'd been placed, and only moved to gnaw on the bottom of Stan's shirt. "Hey!" Stan cried, yanking the fabric out of the goat's mouth. When the goat loudly bleated in response, Stan asked, "Wow, really? Why don't you say that to my face, pal?" With a sigh, he managed to escape the animal with his shirt mostly unscathed. What the heck was he going to do with a goat? Hunt down the owner? Take it to an animal shelter? Were animal shelters for goats even a thing?

This couldn't go on any longer; he had a business to run. To try and deal with the strange encounter, he marched in the direction the man had run off to. He didn't even make it out of the gift shop before his path was halted by Dan blocking his way. He opened his mouth to say something, but Stan first asked, "What?" before the first word got out.

"My friends from the biker joint are coming over on my next break. You in? I don't think you've met them yet, huh?"

Stan's face fell. On any other day, he would've jumped at the chance to meet Dan's probably-awesome friends from a real, live biker joint. On any other day, he didn't have a Shack to operate. If Dan's friends were anything like him, they'd probably be on the rowdy side, Stan reasoned. What if they scared off potential customers, or broke a piece of merchandise? He couldn't let that happen. A bit of success had entered his reach, and he couldn't lose it.

"No! You can't bring them here."

"What? Why not? Mabel always lets me-"

"Because, uh, I made the rules and I say you can't. Mabel's not here, is she? So go man the register or you're not getting a break."

With a spectacular eye roll, Dan stomped back to the register. He sat down in the chair behind it with so much force that it threatened to break. A customer came up to him shortly afterwards, only wavering slightly at Dan's glower. "I'd like to buy this t-shirt for my friend. How much is-"

"At least you get to see your friends!" Dan bellowed across the room, slamming a large hand on the table. The woman flinched and quietly gasped before hustling as far away as she could from him. She replaced the shirt on a random rack and briskly exited the gift shop. Dan's expression softened and his glare faded as he exclaimed, voice still raised, "What? What'd I say?"

Stan stared wistfully at the gift shop door. A potential customer had been lost. No matter. The glass jar still contained a healthy amount of bills. For a moment, he considered giving in and letting Dan's friends come over. That moment didn't last long, for if he went back on what he said once, there was a chance he'd keep doing so until everything about his time as boss fell to pieces. Instead, he held his head high and entered the hallway after the man who'd left the goat behind.

Ford's voice was audible even before Stan opened the door to where the tour was. Shortly after he quietly slipped into the room, he knew something was off. Several tourists were on their phones, while others still had fallen asleep and snored with their mouths opened. Every pair of eyes in the room appeared slightly glazed, with the exception of one. Forget the goat, this was more important.

Ford himself stood in front of his captive audience, talking continuously. Behind him sat a chalkboard, completely covered in complex equations and notes. Even further back, a collection of several pictures and even more notes had been taped to the wall, connected by a red string that had been tacked on.

Picking up the chalk, he began to draw something that slightly resembled the moon in the small space remaining on the board. "Contrary to popular belief, the moon landing was not faked. Nor is the moon made of cheese, for if it was, the extraterrestrial rat colonies would've eaten it by now. However, I have reason to believe that the moon is actually thousands of smaller moons in a giant moon-sized trench coat..." he explained as even more of the audience began to fall asleep.

From the back of the room, Stan motioned Ford to stop talking and come closer to him. He ignored him several times, so Stan's gestures became progressively wilder. By that point, Ford and a few tourists had begun to stare pointedly. "Five-minute break, everyone. When I come back, we'll discuss the likelihood of the world being secretly run by alien pterodactyls," announced Ford to the audience. As several people sighed in relief, Ford pushed his way through the crowd and made it in front of Stan before they both exited into a nearby hallway out of the group's earshot.

"What were you doing in there, bro? I got flashbacks to school in there. Chalkboards should be made illegal in summer."

Ford crossed his arms. "I wanted to try something different; is that so terrible? While I have the chance, I might as well educate this town's population on the real phenomenas around them instead of fake taxidermy projects."

"It's a tour. It was made so people could come here in the summer and get away from education," Stan said as he prepared to enter the other room again. "Why don't I finish the rest of the tour?"

"Wait. There's something else."

"What?"

"The rug. Shouldn't we move it now that we know what it does? It needs further studies and I don't have enough notes on it as is."

Stan crossed his arms. "I thought you wanted to 'teach them about the real phenomenas around here,'" he replied, punctuating the last part of his sentence with air quotes.

Ford sighed. "The rug is different and you know that. I wanted to conduct further personal study on it, and I can't do that if some tourist destroys it. I don't want a perfectly good active specimen ruined. Remember the paint incident this morning? Why don't you just use some of your money from earlier and buy another carpet?"

"Are you kidding? We can't pay to get a new rug! The money we save on this could be the difference between winning and losing the bet!"

"Stan, I don't think-"

"No! We can work with this. I'm thinkin' we set this thing up as an attraction. I've got ideas. You want real attractions, I'll give them a real attraction! All I have to do is put up a velvet rope, and charge five bucks extra, no, twenty bucks extra, and let people swap bodies for a second. It worked on Mabel and I, so they could switch back no problem! They could get the real Gravity Falls experience!" Stan exclaimed, voice raising in volume and intensity with every sentence until he was practically yelling.

"You're being irrational," came the reply. Ford tilted his head upwards a bit, narrowing his eyes.

"Your face is irrational! You're just mad that I'm actually good at something for once."

"You really think I'm-"

"And you know what? You weren't put in charge here, were you? I can keep that rug there all day and you can't stop me," Stan replied, stomping a sneakered foot on the ground.

"So? I'm still running the tour. I can just tell people not to go there."

Stan groaned in response. He finally was good at something and it appeared the entire world was conspiring against him. "No, Ford. You're fired!"

He scoffed. "Really? You're firing me? How mature."

"I can do the tours from now on. I'll make it the most interesting tour you've ever seen and get a ton of cash and win the bet. You'll see!" he called after Ford, who had already began to retreat into the gift shop, presumably to make sure nobody messed up his oh-so-precious specimen. "Wait! Aren't you upset about not getting your paycheck?"

"You weren't paying me anyway. Whatever, I'm an underappreciated genius in my time," replied Ford, walking off with a shrug.

...

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are truly down to the wire in this round of Trivia Masters! Mabel currently has seven thousand dollars and Delilah currently has six thousand and seven hundred dollars. Now, it all comes down to one final question. Whoever answers first and correctly will win ten thousand dollars and take home everything. Whoever loses gets sent home with nothing. The final question...will be revealed after these messages!" the host announced. With that, the cameras momentarily shifted away, no longer hyper-fixing their attentions on the contestants.

The other contestant that stood across from Mabel dropped her gaze to the floor and gripped the front of her podium like a lifeline. "Y'know, I've had a rough time in my life before I came here. Husband left, he got the house, and I've been strapped for cash ever since. Also, my hamster died when I was seven and I've never been the same since! It sure would be nice to have the prize money to get back on my feet," she said. Mabel nodded. Oh, that was so sad! However, she didn't have time to ponder the reasons why she'd chosen to tell her all that. Soon, the commercial break had come to an end.

"Welcome back to Trivia Masters! Now, the final question will be revealed," said the host as a screen behind him changed to display the final question. "Whoever answers this right will get an additional ten thousand dollars and will take home everything. The loser will leave this room in shame. The question is: in what year was the knitting machine invented?"

Mabel knew this. She'd been knitting since forever; the fact had to have come up in one of her instruction books eventually. A simple course of action lay before her: she was to slam the red buzzer in front of her, answer the question, and win the bet easily. Instead, she stood frozen, unable to will herself into doing the simplest task. Did she really deserve this? More than her opponent? So she could fund her endless scams and secrets? While she only took a moment to ponder the topic before motioning to hit the button anyway, that split second was enough time for her opponent to act quickly and press hers first. "It was invented in 1589," the other contestant answered before precisely pursing her lips.

"Correct! Delilah has now taken home the prize!" exclaimed the host. Streamers were dumped from the ceiling as the cameras focused in on Mabel's opponent. Mabel, however, stood off to the side and wanted to leave as soon as possible. Still, it wasn't as if there was much to look forward to besides getting gloated at by a thirteen-year-old. Was she really too much of a pushover?

...

The rest of the weekend slipped by. As the money continued to accumulate, Stan grew more tired by the minute. His black suit was a nightmare to wear in the stuffy Shack. To make things worse, he constantly, breathlessly, had to run back and forth between the tour rooms and the gift shop. Dan still worked the register and Maria still acted as handyman, but Stan took on the brunt of the job himself. He couldn't face the risk that someone else could mess up and lose them more money.

Things remained in some state of calm as Stan ran the shack and tried to ignore Ford's general lack of presence in it since his firing. That calm didn't break until the afternoon of the last day. While Stan was tucked away in another room running a tour, the goat had run off again to some unknown place within the Shack. With his previous owner long gone and all attempts to put him in the front yard ending in him trying to munch on the tourists' shirts, there was nothing else to do except keep him in the Shack where someone could watch him. Too bad nobody had been watching him in that moment.

Dan, carrying a table down from one of the break rooms to put in the Shack, wasn't paying much attention to what was below his feet and crossed the carpet. At the same time, the goat stood on the edge of the carpet, nibbling on one corner of fabric. While Dan was carrying the table, he happened to lightly brush against the goat's coarse fur. With that came an electric shock. To Dan, the world seemed a lot bigger all of a sudden. The goat, in Dan's body, dropped to all fours and loudly bleated.

Dan let out an ear-shatteringly loud scream when he'd realized what had happened, before glancing around quickly to make sure that nobody was in the room to hear him do it. He exclaimed, "I'm never eating meat again!"

Just then, Stan emerged into the room, followed by the latest tour group. "And here we have the electrifying Electron Carpet! If you've ever wanted to live life in someone else's shoes, here's your chance. For a price of only twenty dollars per person."

Stan's eyes grew wide as dinner plates when he took notice of "Dan" lumbering around the room on all fours and making noises that sounded suspiciously like goat bleats. Just as an unruly tourist placed a foot onto the carpet, "Dan" ran into her. With a flash of electricity, they switched. As the tourist began screeching, the goat grew panicked and lunged himself at the rest of the group. Some jumped out of the way, ending up on the carpet, of course. Things got out of hand from there.

People began switching bodies like mad. The entire tour group, as well as the Shack's workers, descended into a state of constantly running amok and haphazardly swapping bodies. Stan himself ended up switching with at least three tourists successively as people jostled into him in their confusion. On the fourth switch, he temporarily breathed a sigh of relief when the body he switched into was the correct frame and height. However, he near-instantly realized he still wasn't in his own body when he looked down to see gloved hands and an aviator jacket. After another flash of electricity, he turned to face his own body.

"Stan! I thought I told you-"

"Ford?"

"Yeah, it's me. Come on, help me out here already!"

Ford smirked. "Why do you want my help? I thought you fired me."

Stan wanted to scream. If Ford wasn't going to help, then he'd have to fix it himself. Meanwhile, the Shack was still in chaos. Terrified screams, punctuated by the occasional goat's bleating, sounded throughout the Shack. The carpet constantly crackled with static electricity as people sprinted across it. A bright glow that characterized a mass body-switching occasionally emanated from the rug. Rubbing his feet on the carpet, Stan tapped Ford on the shoulder and felt the rush of electricity once again.

When he opened his eyes, he was looking at Ford. Stan glanced down to find the black suit and slight frame of his own body. He breathed a sigh of relief. However, it was short-lived when he noticed the glass jar of money lying on the ground. It wasn't broken, but that fact didn't make what he had to do any easier. Every cry of surprise made by any customer in the room registered loudly to Stan's ears, and his chest had begun to grow tight.

Taking a deep breath, he climbed on top of the counter and looked down on the scene. Then, as loudly as he could, he screamed, "Shut up!" He sustained the yell for so long that eventually, everybody froze in their tracks. "You're all scared. I get it. Some of you will probably need therapy after all this. But we need to sort this out right now."

"Why should we listen to you, huh?"

"Yeah, you were the one who showed us such a horrible thing!"

"If I don't get a refund, I'm never coming back. I'll tell all my friends not to come here, too!"

"I know, I know! But once all this is over, I promise I'll refund everybody. Nobody move right now. Maria, where are you?"

What appeared to be a random tourist in a Hawaiian shirt raised her hand. She searched for the person occupying her body before eventually finding him. With a rub of sneakers on the carpet and a handshake, they returned back to normal. Two down, a lot more to go. Stan aided the other tourists in catching on, ordering them to calmly call out their names and switch back into their own bodies. The Shack returned to a slightly-less-chaotic state as the situation fell under control. When Dan switched back into his own body, he remarked, "Yeah, I'm gonna take back what I said about never eating meat again. I could never give up bacon."

Then, the line began. The tour group lined up expectantly in front of Stan, some still directing pinched glares at him or quivering slightly at the traumatic incident that had just taken place. Stan reached into the jar of money and handed a few bills to a tourist, followed by the next, and the next. By the time the last tourist had taken the refund and walked out the door as quickly as they could, the jar was empty. "This was the last day. My last chance," Stan mused as he stared straight through the empty glass. For a moment, he wondered if it would've been better to simply take the money jar and run far away from all the chaos. Probably not. The damage to the Shack's reputation wouldn't be worth it.

Shortly afterwards, a familiar pink car pulled into the driveway and braked with a screech. Stan braced himself at the sound of footsteps echoing up the path to the Shack. Whatever Mabel did over vacation was bound to have made more money than he did. When Mabel swung open the door and burst inside, Stan couldn't help but stare at the floor with a slight grimace. The inevitable question from her arrived right on schedule. "So! How'd it go?"

Motioning to the empty jar, Stan mumbled, "Just fantastic."/p

"I can't believe it," Mabel replied. "Guess I won, then."

Stan sighed in resignation. "How much did you make?"

Mabel pulled a single one-dollar bill that she'd previously found in the vent from her pocket. "I didn't do very well, either. I lost the rest of the money I made because, yes, I should be firmer in my choices than I actually am sometimes. But one dollar is more than nothing, so I still win! Hand it over, buddy."

Stan pulled the fez off his head and returned it to Mabel without a second thought. "You can keep it. I've got other stuff I want to do this summer besides run this joint." He paused, a realization hitting him. "Some weirdo gave me a goat and I still have him! Wouldn't the goat be worth more than that dollar?"

"Well, where is this magic mystery goat?" Mabel asked with a chuckle.

Stan lifted a finger to signal her to wait a moment before spinning around to check the room for the goat. He then ran out of the gift shop to search in the attic and tour rooms. After a minute of fruitless searching, he returned. The goat was nowhere in sight, and had probably run off during the chaos. "Aw, man! I almost got out of having to do that stupid dance, too."

Mabel grinned. "I wasn't thinking of that, but now that you mention it, I did say you'd have to do a dance, didn't I?"

"What? No, you didn't. There's no dancing here. This is a dance-free zone. What's a dance?"

"I don't know, I thought I heard you agree to make this bet with me..."

Stan sighed. "Ugh, I guess I'll have to get this over with."

...

Ford had set up a camera to record this, because of course he did. Mabel, Dan, and Maria were all there as well, having set up lawn chairs in the Shack's front yard. Twisting a knob on the side of the camera, Ford focused in on Stan, whose expression slightly resembled that of a dog who'd been forced into some awful costume for the holiday cards. As he stood in front of a slapdash painted background, he sang off-key, "I'm Stan and I was wrong. I'm singing the Stan Wrong Song. I shouldn't have taken that chance, now here's my remorseful dance..."

"Do the kick!" exclaimed Mabel. In response, Stan's glare deepened. He lifted a foot off the ground in the tiniest of kicks, deliberately putting in as little effort as possible. "Jazzier!" Still, there was no change.

When he heard a rustling in a nearby bush, he paused where he was, eternally grateful for any sort of distraction. Before he took so much as a step forward, the goat jumped out of the bush, munching leaves. "Oh, now you show up. Are you serious? Where were you a few minutes ago?" The goat gave no response except to run to Stan's side and begin to nibble on the hem of his shirt.

"I really thought you were kidding about the goat thing," remarked Mabel from her seat.

"I mean, it's a little late now," said Stan. Turning to the goat, he continued, "You are the most stubborn, annoying, and troublemaking animal I have ever seen. You know what? I can relate to that. I'm gonna name you Gompers."

"As cute as this is, you're not getting out of it that easily. Why don't you try the song one more time? Three, two, one, take it from the top!"

 **HFNNVI'H Z JFZIGVI LU GSV DZB LEVI. SRTS GRNV ULI Z XRKSVI HDRGXS, RHM'G RG?**


End file.
